Cold as Ice
by The She Devil
Summary: A murder investigation at a ski resort in the mountains of Las Vegas gets dangerous when Nick and Greg are snowed in with the residents, one of which is the killer. Nick/Greg slash included. Holy cow, I updated.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Cold as Ice

AUTHOR: The She Devil

EMAIL: urbaybeedoll13 at yahoo

CATEGORY: Mystery, thriller (hopefully)

RATING: Mature for language, sexuality, violence, adult themes and situations.

SPOILERS: Season 9 is mentioned.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything.

SUMMARY: A murder investigation at a ski resort in the mountains of Las Vegas gets dangerous when Nick and Greg are snowed in with the residents, one of which is the killer.

NOTES: This is my first time trying to write a mystery/thriller. So I hope it works. Please be kind, review and let me know how it is. Also, this takes place after "The Hunt," but you don't need to read that to read this. Just know that Nick and Greg are already in an established relationship.

--

Money isn't the only thing here that can make you sweat. Las Vegas is known for a desert that can reach temperatures in the hundreds. It stretches for miles, can make you as dizzy as an adrenaline rush in the casinos and can dry you out better than a late night AA meeting, both faster than a drive-through wedding. Here is perpetual sun, and while Florida attracts tourists and snow birds for the same reason, Disney World can only help you forget your problems until the doors close; in Las Vegas, however, the doors never close.

Less so, and only when in season, Las Vegas is known for its mountain range forty-five minutes outside of downtown, located in the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. The Happy Trails ski resort is in the heart of it all, boasting a full-service main house and twelve outlying private cabins. The trails include beginner, intermediate, and expert, with lessons in all three degrees of experience. Most impressively, it offers its highest point at 9,370 feet. Headaches, nausea, insomnia and loss of appetite (all symptoms of altitude sickness) come free of charge.

This was where Jamie Suarez currently found himself, meticulously picking decent firewood out of the snow as he blinked fat, falling flakes out of his eyes. He shook off a large piece, adding it to the pile in his arms as he wondered how this had happened. One moment, he had been suggesting Vegas as a honeymoon to his fiance. He'd never have guessed they would end up in the mountains at a ski resort after the wedding, close to the action but nowhere near what he'd imagined. He could be gambling away his life's savings right now, but no, instead he was digging around in the snow for --

The shock of cold hit the side of his face, startling him effectively. He stumbled forward on one knee; the firewood slipped from his arms, falling silently into snow beneath him. He took a deep breath and looked up to see his wife's expression of unadulterated delight: mittens on either side of her face, eyebrows raised, mouth in a perfect 'O.' She remained that way for a fraction of a second before she burst into laughter, doubling over so hard she fell to her knees in a white explosion of fluff.

"Frankie!" he scolded, but it was hard to fight the smile on his face. He reached into the snow, packing it tightly in his hands before pitching it at her. Unfortunately, his aim wasn't as good as hers.

"Ha!" she shrieked with pleasure, pointing at him. "I guess Mr. Varsity Baseball is throwing foul balls today, huh?"

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, smirking. "Maybe Mr. Varsity Football has something to say about that."

"_¡Hay, Señor Suarez!_" she exclaimed in a Spanish accent that was awful yet adorable at the same time. "_Tengo mucho_...fear?"

He moved at her fast and low, arms outstretched to tackle her, but Mrs. Varsity Track was too fast for him. She turned and sprinted into the woods with her husband hot on her trail, following her form and musical laughter. He pushed branches out of his way, bounding through the snow, lifting his legs high, running as fast as he could, knew she was faster.

"What's the matter, sports star?" she called from ahead, her voice distant through the trees. "Can't keep up with a girl?"

"I'm going to get you!" he shouted back, noticing a fallen branch in his sight and barely jumping over it. His jeans caught against it, causing him to tumble, and he slowed to a stop. Doubled over, hands on his knees, he breathed hard. He definitely wasn't in the same shape he had been in high school. "Frankie...let's get back to the cabin and I'll show you my wrestling moves!"

He looked up. There wasn't a sound. Only the soft falling of flakes on the snow around him. Only his own breath escaping from his lungs. Only his heart pounding in his chest.

"Frankie?" he called, straightening out. He turned in all directions, his eyes seeing nothing but foliage and snow. "Frankie, this isn't funny! Where are you? Frankie!"

And then he heard it. A scream pierced through the night air, so hard and fast he stumbled backwards.

"_Frankie!_" He ran forward, towards where he could swear her cry came from, but he wasn't sure. Scratching at his face, his hands, branches like fingers clawing at him, grabbing him, slowing him. He wasn't sure where he was, or how far from their cabin. He wasn't even sure which direction he was running in anymore. Hadn't he just come this way? Or had it been that way? "Frankie!"

He shouted her name until his voice was hoarse, searched for her until his body couldn't take it anymore. He must've run for hours. He couldn't tell. He just ran until his muscles burned for oxygen and his lungs felt as if they were going to explode in his chest. He ran until he was unable to run any longer, until he collapsed to his knees in the snow, numb from the cold and the confusion and the terror.

"Frankie," he breathed, his voice hitching.

He looked around. He looked for her. And all he could see was snow. Pure, white snow.

--

To be continued. Yeah, no Greg and Nick. I gotta set a tone here, ya know.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your kind reviews. Now, here's some Nick and Greg. :)

--

Nick could remember summers in Texas. They were like every other season of the year. Warm. Sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. He could dip his feet in the lake as he fished with his mom in February and then again in July. He could run outside in the yard in shorts any time he wanted. He didn't even own a jacket because it never rained, it never snowed, and it never got chilly.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't entirely true. Maybe it did rain, and perhaps in some parts of Texas it snowed, and, occasionally, he supposed it got chilly. But that was beside the point. The point was, he'd moved to Las Vegas to _enjoy_ the heat. He'd escaped the boredom of Texas (amongst other things), but had kept the climate. Because Nicholas Stokes hated the cold with as much passion as he might hate a murderer, or a rapist, or a -- well, you got the idea.

All this to say, to throw Nick in the cold was cruel. And if throwing him into the cold was cruel, throwing him in with Greg Sanders was just plain heinous. The young man could hardly contain his excitement during the ride over, fidgeting in his seat and changing the radio station constantly. He kept looking out the window, watching the climate change from spring to winter to blizzard-like, eyes widening more and more until Nick thought they would fall right out of his head and into his lap.

"Stop it!" he finally yelled over the loud, unrecognizable music blaring from the stereo. He flicked the volume down with a harsh twist of the knob, glaring at Greg briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Just stop, please! I can't take it anymore. I get it, you're excited about the snow. I get it. Just -- but just give it a rest already, okay? Chill out, you're driving me up a wall!"

There was finally silence. Then: "No, _you're_ driving _me_," Greg corrected, and smiled wildly, "into the mountains!"

Nick almost drew his gun. Almost. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel hard, setting his jaw. How did he get into this mess in the first place?

Oh, yeah. Grissom.

He'd called Nick into his office, that enigmatic look in his face as usual. Nick had seen that shrink slinking around in the halls of the Crime Lab, talking about grief and loss and how it can sneak up on you, and he'd been afraid that his boss was going to demand he go talk about his feelings or his childhood or how he felt about his mother.

He'd braced himself for the worst, but instead all he'd gotten was a case file and a warning to wear thick socks.

"Happy Trails?" He was all too familiar with the ski resort, and had shook his head, pushing the case file back across the desk. "No. No way. I can't survive in the cold. It's physically impossible. My people aren't built for it."

"Your people?" Grissom had asked, a curious eyebrow quirked.

"I come from a long line of Texans," Nick had explained. "We don't do cold."

"Evolve," Grissom had suggested, shrugging. "Everybody's doing it."

So here he was, evolving quite poorly, the heat blasting at him through the vents in the dashboard. He was almost sweating underneath the several layers of clothes he was wearing, but that was how he liked it. Just like he preferred his sex: hot and sweaty.

Suddenly, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Greg reaching for the radio again.

"Greg, I know you're my boyfriend," he began tersely, "but I swear to God I'll kill you."

Greg glared, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting efficiently. "Just because you're mad doesn't mean you have to poop on my parade."

Nick sighed. This was going to be a long night.

--

So Greg was a little excited. And what? He hadn't been up to the mountains in years, working too hard at his new job to be able to take a few days off and get away. There was too much to learn, too many expectations to live up to. But, man, did he miss the mountains. A getaway would sure be nice.

He remembered vacations when he was small, with his parents in northern California. They were the best memories he had, next to losing his virginity (not that that was so long ago). Addendum: they were the best memories he had of his _childhood_. His father teaching him to ski, his mother waiting with bated breath for her son to reach the bottom safely. And then when he'd become a teenager and learned to snowboard, he could swear his poor mother would be found at the end of the trail, a hand to her mouth and a fist at her stomach, literally worried to death.

He wondered if, after the investigation, maybe he could convince Nick to stay at one of the cabins with him. Maybe he could even teach him to ski. He'd conjured up a romantic getaway in his mind's eye, imagining hitting the slopes during the day and following that with another workout in bed. Warm and cozy in their secret place, away from murder and mayhem and Las Vegas, just enjoying each other and exploring each other in their blissful escape.

Nick had shattered his dreams rather quickly. Grumpy from the get-go, he'd explained rather loudly that he hated the cold. He couldn't stand it, it was, well, cold, and he hated it. Had he mentioned his pure hatred for it? Nick wasn't sure at the time, but by the end of the tirade, Greg had certainly gotten the drift. Nick and the cold were polar opposites, matter and anti-matter, and when they got together stars collided, planets exploded and the universe as we knew it ended.

"I don't remember those exact words," Nick stated, glancing at Greg from the driver's side. "I just said I didn't like it."

Anyway, Greg's dreams were shattered and now he was sitting in the passenger's side seat of the SUV, offering his best pout in an attempt to make Nick feel as guilty as possible. It was something that Greg had found to be easy to do, and he used it to his advantage in only the most dire of circumstances. This just happened to be one of those times.

"You're not going to guilt me out," Nick began, eyes on the road. Greg sighed, but continued to pout. He was going to win this battle.

"You're still a jerk."

"I'm sorry," Nick finally said, and Greg inwardly celebrated his victory. He knew his Catholic boy wouldn't let him down; those people were _born_ with guilt. "I just don't like the cold."

"It's just one night," Greg reminded him. "Maybe even just a couple of hours. All we have to do is collect evidence and the police do their thing. Then we'll be back in sunny Las Vegas."

Nick nodded and seemed satisfied with that answer. Then: "I really wouldn't kill you, you know."

Greg laughed. Nick was way too predictable.

--

Red and blue, flashing over the snow in waves. Crime tape surrounded the perimeter of the cabin, laced together by trees. Nick tried to imagine what the scene looked like without them, but it was hard when this was all you saw night after night. Sometimes he even saw it when it wasn't there. He would be at the grocery store and remember a murder from a few weeks ago at the Buy Rite. Next thing he knew, he'd be wondering what the customers in line would look like on a metal slab under harsh, unforgiving lights. Morbid, he knew, but when you worked for the dead, soon everybody started looking like a prospective employer.

A gust of wind suddenly rocked the car, breaking Nick from his thoughts. No more delaying. They had a crime scene to process. He looked at the man seated beside him -- his man -- and sighed in distaste. Greg smiled, slipping a warm hand on the side of Nick's face for a moment. When he removed it, he placed it on Nick's hand, out of sight from anyone who could see in from beyond the windows.

"We'll be warm soon," Greg reassured him in a soft voice. Nick suddenly felt as if Greg was going to kiss him and shifted back in his seat. Instead, all he received was an eye-roll. "I'm not that stupid. Relax."

"Sorry," Nick said, although he wasn't sure why.

"For what?" Greg asked with a shrug, and pushed the door open.

Cold rushed into the car uninvited before the door was closed, and Nick was left alone in the heat once more.

--

Greg left Nick in the car but soon heard a door slam close behind him. He glanced back to see the older man had exited the car, looking Catholic boy guilty as usual. Greg rolled his eyes once more and turned back to the cabin again, slightly miffed. Yes, he and Nick weren't exactly out -- at all. Sure, they hadn't talked about it. And maybe they had only been dating for six months and Nick was new to this whole man-on-man thing. Perhaps they hadn't even said they'd loved each other yet. Although, in Greg's defense, he sure wanted to. He wanted to tell Nick over and over again that he loved him, especially when Nick was on top of him, the morning sun hitting the angles of his face and curves of his body in just the right way, darkening his eyelashes and firing up his eyes and putting Michelangelo's David to shame.

So why didn't he? Because he was scared that if he did, Nick would go running in the other direction. Every time Greg tried to talk about their future or make plans that were further out than that month, Nick wouldn't even try to lie and commit to them. All he'd get was a "We'll see when we get there." Greg sighed. He was sure when Nick had agreed to give Greg all of him and step up and be his boyfriend, that he had meant it. But lately, he wasn't so sure of that. Six months? Greg was sure that was enough time to realize if you loved someone or not. Maybe that was just because he was as sure of his love for Nick as the sun rose every morning.

Wow, Greg thought. _That_ was cheesy. He really had it bad, didn't he?

"Hey!" he heard from ahead of him, and looked up to see a police officer waving them over. He was an older man, and while his smile was warm his eyes were cold. "You guys from the crime lab?"

"Yes, sir," Nick replied from behind Greg. "Nick Stokes, this is Greg Sanders."

"Jimmy Marino. I'm the local sheriff in these parts. Y'all made good timing," he said, as he held up the yellow tape for the two men to duck under. "We haven't touched the body yet."

"Are you from the south?" Nick asked, and Greg furrowed his brow with puzzlement.

"No," the officer stated, and smiled again. "Can't stand the heat. The body's this way. Shall we?"

While Greg knew he was a junior CSI, he wondered how long it would be before he got used to seeing a dead body and didn't have to steel himself before entering a crime scene. It was something he honestly dreaded and couldn't numb himself to; he wasn't in this for the morbid curiosity, much like the onlookers peeking past the yellow tape. He was in this to catch the bad guys and put them behind bars. He just wished he still didn't get that feeling in his stomach like his lunch was going to make a second appearance, just not the way it looked when it went down.

He allowed Marino and Nick to enter the cabin first, heard the low whistle from Nick and knew this wasn't going to be a routine murder. Stepping over the threshold, Greg was overwhelmed with the scent of copper and burnt wood. He peered over Nick's shoulder to see a young, fair-skinned woman lying on the double-sized bed, her hands bound behind her, legs splayed. The white bed sheets were soaked through with blood.

"She was stabbed at least twenty times," Marino stated, as Nick and Greg moved to opposite sides of the bed, being careful in where they stepped. Her blue eyes were cast at Greg, but they were glazed and blank. The terror had frozen on her face, and he had to look away, looked up at Nick. Tried to remind himself that he had a job to do and to get over himself already and get to work. So he lifted his camera from his neck and began taking pictures, the flash causing her red hair to illuminate like fire.

"All these stab wounds usually indicate rage," Nick stated. The older man looked up at Greg, and then to the officer. "Looks like she was sexually assaulted too."

"How long ago was this called in?" Greg asked, cringing.

"About four hours ago," Marino replied, staying in the doorway. "A couple had a late check in to this cabin."

"What was TOD?" Greg asked, trying to form a timeline in his head.

"We don't know," Marino said. "The coroner hasn't gotten here yet. The roads are getting pretty bad."

"It looks like six to eight hours to me," Nick said, and then shrugged. "But I can't be sure."

"So about eight o'clock," Greg deduced, catching a reflection of silver. "Where is her husband?"

"Back at his cabin," Marino stated. "They were on their honeymoon. He was chasing her through the woods when she disappeared. Said he heard her scream and looked for her. When he couldn't find her he called us. We can't tell when she disappeared. He isn't sure how long he was looking for her. He's quite a mess."

"I can imagine," Greg murmured under his breath, and while he knew everyone was a suspect, he liked to believe that whoever he married someday, he could trust enough not to kill him on their honeymoon. Instinctively, he cast his eyes to Nick, who was looking rather stoic as he collected evidence from the body. Greg flashed his camera over what Nick was doing, before feeling something brush across his ankle. "What -- ?"

A high-pitched shriek startled him effectively, causing him to stumble backwards. He caught sight of a raccoon, lightening fast as it raced for the open doorway. Fucking rodent, just -- he suddenly slipped, losing his train of thought and falling hard right on his ass, and even as he fell he tried not to touch anything to contaminate the crime scene. But when he felt the cold blood underneath him, he sighed dramatically, picking up his reddened, gloved hands and wondering what the chances of Hepatitis were these days.

He looked up to see Nick's restrained smile, as the older man said, "I guess we can just ignore that part of the scene."

"Thank you, I'm fine," Greg said, and wondered how much worse this night could get.

"Hey, guys," a second police officer chirped from the doorway, peeking his head in. "Coroner's not gonna make it. Looks like the highway's closed due to the weather. So if this blizzard doesn't let up, we might be stuck here for a while. Hey, at least now we know the killer can't leave."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Greg asked, as he stood up slowly.

"Nobody's left the premises since yesterday," the officer stated. "The gate you have to come in to get here? Security looked over the tapes and nobody's left. Only a couple people came in."

Greg shared a glance with Nick. Saw the look of pure horror on his face and knew it wasn't from anything he'd seen at the crime scene. Nick Stokes had just been thrown into the cold against his will, and now he was stuck there until further notice. Greg sighed, peeling off his gloves expertly, before muttering: "Great. Got any vacancies?"

--

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

The evidence at the crime scene was relatively sparse. The kitchenette and bathroom had obviously been recently cleaned and yielded nothing of interest, save the generic soaps and lotions from housekeeping. There appeared to have been a struggle in the main room of the cabin that served as a bedroom and living room, and that's where most of the bagging and tagging had happened.

There were several fingerprints that appeared to be from different people, but considering Greg's expertise was DNA and Nick's was hair and fibers, they couldn't be sure. At least from what Greg could see, they _seemed_ different. Blood in the room had also been collected, but God knew how many contributors there were. And if they didn't get the body to the morgue soon, any semen that might be found would be unusable within twenty-four hours. If all this wasn't bad enough, any evidence that had been surrounding the cabin had either been blown away by the wind or covered up with snow. It seemed to Greg that they were stuck between a rock and a rather hard place.

Greg stood just inside of the doorway with Nick, rubbing the nape of his neck tiredly. They had gone over the small cabin several times, had spent countless hours here, and now the coroner was supposed to move the body into his van, where it would be taken to the morgue to be autopsied. Except there was no coroner and there was no van. There was just a dead body stuck in bed.

"So...what now?" Greg asked, looking up at Nick from under dark eyelashes. "We can't just leave her here."

"No, we can't," Nick agreed. "We have to at least put her on ice."

Simultaneously, Greg and Nick looked out the open door, their eyes landing on the snow. They looked back at each other, the pained expression on Nick's face reflected on Greg's. The younger man opened his mouth to say something, but instead all he did was sigh.

"Hey, Officer Marino," Nick called out the open door to one of the two officers that were stranded here with them. The other was a young man named Danny Williams, nice but not the brightest bulb in the place. The older man looked over from the crime tape expectantly. "Think you can find us a tent and a cot, or maybe a long table?"

"I'm on it," he called back, as Greg glanced at the body once more. Movement at the back window caught his eye and he tapped Nick's arm, his eyes never leaving the shadow.

"I'll go around back," Nick stated, drawing his service pistol. Greg nodded, but he still didn't like it when Nick decided to get involved in the action. Nick knew it wasn't a part of their job description, but Greg supposed he couldn't help his lingering police instincts. So he let him go out the front door and followed him with his eyes through the windows, could see the dark figure at the back of the house moving in Nick's direction. His chest tightened as he heard Nick shouting for the man to freeze, and while Greg half-wondered if people still used that term, he watched the man run along the back of the cabin where he'd first been spotted.

Greg made a split-second decision and flung open the narrow back door, stepping back with surprise when the fleeing man crashed into it and fell back into the snow. Greg stood in the doorway, meeting Nick and looking at him with a shrug.

"I didn't really think that would work," Greg stated, looking down at the man in the snow, who was really no older than a teenager.

Nick didn't even reply, just looked at him with mild exasperation as he slipped his gun back into his holster. He grabbed the boy by his jacket, lifting him bodily. "Get up! I said get up!"

"Okay, okay!" the boy said, holding his bloodied nose. Greg stepped into the snow, his boots crunching upon it. It was at least six inches deep already, and the weather didn't show any signs of letting up. "Relax, I was just looking!"

"Yeah, looking? Or trying to destroy evidence?" Nick asked, as Officer Marino came around back. "Or maybe you were trying to get one last look at your work?"

"What's all the commotion?" the officer asked. "I sent Danny to go find us a tent and heard a bang."

"This creep was trying to mess with our crime scene," Nick stated, handcuffing the kid rather roughly. Greg almost felt bad for him. "You're either getting charged with obstruction of justice or murder, my friend."

"What? No!" the boy shrieked. "I'm here with my parents! I've been with them all night, you can ask them! I was just looking, I swear!"

"We'll have a talk with them all right," Nick said, shoving the terrified boy towards Marino. Do me a favor and get this kid and all the other residents to the main house. We're gonna do some interrogating."

"Sure thing," Marino replied. "Come on, kid, let's go."

Greg watched them leave, standing beside Nick, whose breath was escaping in short, loud, white, puffy bursts. He placed a hand on Nick's arm, smiling coyly. He could feel the man shaking slightly, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

"Look at you, all tough and manly," Greg teased, squeezing Nick's arm through leather-gloved fingers. He imitated Nick's Southern accent rather exaggeratedly as he said, "You're either gettin' charged with obstruction of justice or murder, my friend."

"Shut up, Forrest," he shot back, referring to Forrest Gump. Greg grinned with amusement. "I'll show you tough and manly later."

"Can't wait," Greg replied cheerily. "We need to get the body bagged so we can move it before we get to the main house."

"Yeah," he said almost absently, then continued more vehemently, "I'll tell you what though, I don't trust anybody right now. That cop, Marino, the hell if he ain't from the south. I can hear it in his voice."

"Okay," Greg agreed, as they moved back inside the house. "Then I guess we'll be interviewing everyone. Somebody here's gotta be the killer. It's pretty unlikely they hiked up here in this weather."

Suddenly, Nick smiled, the first one Greg had seen all night. "Greg, get ready for some good old fashioned detective work."

---

The main house was an extravagant wooden structure with a sloped roof and large windows. When they walked inside, the place seemed even bigger because of the open floor plan that allowed the roof to double as the ceiling. On the ground floor was a lounge area with couches, round tables that were each surrounded by two chairs, a small business center, a modest gift shop, and a burgundy door that read "Employees Only." In the center of it all was a spiral staircase leading up to a balcony that served as a dining room to the sole restaurant cleverly called "Happy Trails Bar and Grille," and several doors to various-sized banquet halls.

As of the moment, the lounge and small tables were all occupied by the current tenants of the lodge. Nick counted twenty heads, excluding the two police officers, although he wasn't about to exclude them as suspects. From what the security tapes had shown, the only people to arrive after the time of death had been the couple who had discovered the body, a young couple, and an older couple. However, all other fourteen residents and workers were fair game (except for maybe the twelve-year-old twins, but Nick _had_ seen some messed up twelve-year-olds). Although they would still have to interview everyone, and that sucked.

What also sucked was that since Greg was the only other person here that Nick trusted, it was going to be up to himself and the younger man to conduct the interviews. That meant that this was going to take a long time. Nick rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was creeping up on five o'clock in the morning, close to the time they were supposed to be leaving work and snuggling in bed, drifting off into sweet dreamland. But, no. He was stuck in the freezing cold. At least he had Greg, who had -- thank God -- calmed considerably.

"Okay," Greg said from beside him. "Where should we start?"

"The husband. Then the kid and his parents," Nick replied. "He's only sixteen so they have to be there."

"You know the minute anyone lawyers up, we're screwed," Greg stated quietly. "We don't have access to one. We don't even know when one could get here. We don't even know when _we_ could get out of here. We don't even -- "

"_Greg_."

"Got it." He mimed zipping up his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key, before clearing his throat. "Let's get to it."

---

"I know this is hard," Nick said softly, from beside Greg in the makeshift interrogation room they had put together in one of the banquet halls. He was looking at Jamie Suarez, the man who had just lost his wife brutally, and it showed in every crease in his face. "I just need you to go over what happened with us."

"I told the police officers," he replied, his voice hoarse, his fingers wrapped around his wedding band. "Why do I have to tell you too?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Suarez. Just one more time," Nick stated, glancing at Greg briefly. The young man had one elbow on the arm of his chair, his face leaning against his hand, covering his mouth. Wondered what he was thinking.

"I was getting some firewood with her," he said, without looking at them. "She threw a snowball at me and I ran after her. She was always faster than me. She was on the track team in high school, you know? Was the captain because she was the best runner. I ran her into the woods. She got ahead of me and I lost her." Suddenly, his voice hitched, and he began to cry. It nearly broke Nick's heart to watch him; he saw Greg turn away out of the corner of his eye. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lose her. I didn't mean to lose her. Oh, God, I lost her. Oh, God."

---

"I swear to God, Timothy, if you aren't telling the truth about this," the boy's father was warning, pointing a finger in his face, his voice booming in the large hall. "You're going to go to jail, do you know what they do to pretty boys like you in jail?"

"I can't believe you'd be so morbid as to go over there and 'sneak a peek,'" his mother chided, her voice shrill, and Greg blinked hard. "What were you _thinking_? I mean to sneak around a crime scene to look at a poor dead woman that had just been -- "

"Okay!" Greg exclaimed, unable to take this any longer. So far, all it had been was a fight over who could be the loudest, most annoying parent. "So can the two of you please confirm where Timothy was from eight to ten last night?"

"Yes," his mother replied first. "He was in the dining room. You can ask the waitress, she was the one who took care of us."

"Thank you," Nick said from beside Greg, his voice giving away his relief. "That's all."

Greg rubbed his face with both hands as the family left the room, looking at Nick with his skin pulled down by his hands. "Oh, my _God_," he said. "How many are left?

---

"I was working all night," the young waitress with the name tag "Becky" said, as she eyed Nick with a little too much enthusiasm. She was guilty. Greg knew it. "You can check the security tapes."

"Who ate at the restaurant last night?" Nick asked.

"Um...the old people," she replied, looking up in thought, "a family of four with the messiest baby on the entire earth -- and they didn't even leave an extra tip. The newlyweds...and...a lady and her son."

"There wasn't a man with the woman and her son?" Greg asked, after a heartbeat.

"Nope," she said, without hesitation. "They got a to go order for him. They said he was on the slopes."

"Did you see or hear anything else that might be helpful?" Nick asked, stifling a yawn.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "I saw these old people and another younger couple in the lounge having drinks. But that was it. Can I get you some coffee, honey? I make the best coffee in all of Las Vegas."

"I bet you do," Nick replied, flashing a chain of white teeth. Greg rolled his eyes. "Thanks. You've been a great help."

The door closed behind her giant ass, and Greg said, "She did it."

"Shut up," Nick said. "You just didn't like the way she looked at me."

"No," Greg protested, shaking his head. "The clairvoyant in me can sense it. Just trust me."

---

"Dude, I was in the kitchen all night," the cook replied, fingering his baseball cap in his hands. "You can check the security cameras."

"The kitchen is open all night?" Greg asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "We have a short menu in case anyone gets hungry, since we know how far we are from town."

"Do you think you could make us something to eat right now?" Greg wondered.

"Does this mean I'm not a suspect?"

"Yes."

"Then, sure."

"No," Nick interrupted, looking at Greg with incredulity. "We haven't seen those tapes yet, we don't know if what he says is true."

"But I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all night," Greg whined. "My growling stomach is interrupting the interrogations."

"What if he's the killer?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrows. "He could poison our food."

"Don't you think that would be a little obvious?" Greg asked Nick, and then looked at the cook. "Are you the killer?"

"No."

"Are you going to poison our food?"

"No."

"Good enough for me!" Greg exclaimed, smiling. "Burger, medium-rare, cheddar cheese, bacon and grilled onions, please."

"Coming right up."

"What about me?" Nick asked.

"Wouldn't want you to get poisoned," the cook replied with a tight smile.

---

"What is this world coming to?" asked Mary, an older woman in her sixties, as she sat across the folding table. "To think a vacation can turn into..._this_."

"We've lived in Las Vegas for years," the older man, Edward, stated. "We were here _before_ the strip. Before this place turned into Hell on Earth."

Nick cleared his throat. "Did y'all hear anything or see anything that might be helpful?"

"Yes," Mary stated. She leaned close and indicated the two CSIs to do the same. They exchanged a glance before complying, and she continued in a theatrical whisper, "There was a young couple in the lounge, they weren't married, God knows what they were doing here. The girl was very upset, she was talking about how what they'd done was wrong, and people were going to find out. She said she was ashamed of herself and him, and she didn't want to be with him anymore."

"And which couple was it?" Nick asked, brow furrowed.

"The girl with the blond hair and that tattoo on her back," she replied. "The butterfly."

---

The girl with the blond hair and that tattoo on her back sat in front of Nick and Greg, next to her boyfriend. She was biting her nails furiously, her eyes cast to the table. Her boyfriend drummed his fingers on the table over and over. Greg always enjoyed this part of the interviews. When the suspects got nervous and they didn't even have to say anything. He enjoyed being intimidating once in a while, knowing he wasn't much of a threat anywhere else.

"So where were you guys last night?"

"Our cabin," the woman said, just as her boyfriend replied: "The slopes."

Greg watched Nick raise his eyebrows, before he smiled, shaking his head. "So which was it? I can see how you can get that easily confused."

"We were at the slopes and then we went back to the cabin," the boyfriend, Mitch, finally said. "We met another couple there -- "

"Mitch," Deborah hissed, and then looked at Greg. The eye contact startled him. Maybe he wasn't as intimidating as he thought, if she was trying to connect with him. "We're just here on vacation. Why are you bothering us? We didn't do anything."

"Then what did you mean when you told your boyfriend you'd done something wrong, and you were ashamed of yourself?" Greg asked expectantly. "That someone was going to find out you murdered that girl?"

"What?" she shrieked, pushing her chair out and standing over the table. "Who told you that? I never said that!"

"Which part?" Nick asked, his expression hard. "And have a seat."

"That I murdered her," she replied, calming as she sat back in her chair. She was quiet for a long time, before she finally said, "We met this other couple on the slopes. They were really nice, and then they started...flirting. We went back to their cabin and...we...we had a foursome, okay? We fucked them. But that's it. We didn't even know who that girl was that got murdered. It wasn't us that killed her."

---

Ten interviews later, Nick sat alone with Greg inside of the banquet hall, eyes cast to the plastic folding table. He sighed heavily before looking at his boyfriend, who was looking almost upset. He couldn't blame him. This was turning into a nightmare. A two man team without any way to process forensic evidences was ridiculous. No wonder why so many crimes had gone unsolved before 1990. And there definitely was no Virgil Tibbs or Hercule Poirot here.

"We haven't gotten anywhere," Greg finally said, his head leaned back to look at the ceiling. "Everybody's accounted for and yet not everybody is."

"Everybody's lying," Nick said.

"It's Las Vegas," Greg argued. "Of course everybody's lying. We have to look through all of those tapes and the skiing logs to see who was on the trail. That's going to take hours. We'd better get -- "

"No," Nick protested, holding his hands up in defense. "We aren't getting started on anything. I'm tired and I stink and it's cold and we're still stuck here until this weather lets up. The sun is up and that means we're supposed to be sleeping. So let's get one of the empty cabins and sleep until they clear the roads."

"That might be -- "

"Don't say it. Please, don't say it."

"...Days?" Greg finished, timidly. He bit his lip, looking at Nick with pity. "I'm sorry, Nick. I know you don't want to be stuck here."

"It's okay," Nick said quietly, turning to face the younger man. He put his hands on Greg's knees, leaning close, raised one hand to trail fingers down the side of his face. "We'll go to a cabin and get cozy in bed after we take a long, hot shower. It'll be romantic."

Greg flushed a beautiful crimson, and the hairs on the back of Nick's neck rose in knowing he could still have that affect on him. The young man smiled crookedly. "We're investigating a murder."

"We're stuck here," Nick reminded him, shrugging. "Might as well get a free stay out of it. You always wanted to take me here."

"I can take you lots of places," Greg said, his breath warm against Nick's cheek.

"Oh, yeah -- ?"

The door burst open, revealing Officer Marino, his expression changing from seriousness to puzzlement to bashfulness very quickly. Nick moved back so quickly his chair scraped against the wooden floor loudly, causing him to cringe. He sighed loudly, not for the first time and not for the last.

"Sorry to, uh, interrupt," the officer said, his eyes cast to the ground. "I just -- we found another body. It's the husband."

"Fuck," Greg breathed quietly.

Nick looked at Greg with a mix of confusion and shock before looking back at Marino. "Where? What happened?"

"He was found in the woods, nearly buried in snow," Marino replied. "The two kids, the brother and sister? They were playing in the snow and they found him. He was stabbed too. I'll meet you guys out there."

He left without closing the door, leaving Nick and Greg alone in the banquet hall once more. Nick could still hear Jamie Suarez' voice echoing in his head. _Oh, God, I lost her. Oh, God_. Crying so hard Nick thought it would tear him apart if the death of his wife couldn't do the job on its own. He looked back at Greg and cursed softly.

"We should've seen this coming," Nick said next, and stood from his chair. Greg only nodded as he followed suit, looking up at the older man from beneath dark eyelashes. He looked breathtakingly sad. "We'll solve this one, Greg."

Greg only shrugged simply. "What other choice do we have?"

---

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this took so long. Mysteries take a lot more thought than previously imagined. Also, I wrote a sex scene. Enjoy it, I don't do it often. My treat to you. :)

---

Jamie Suarez was lying in the snow, crimson red creating Rorschach inkblots around him. Greg studied the strange patterns, wondering what his interpretations would say about his personality or his emotional functioning. Although, it was hard to see a consistent pattern when the snow kept falling so harshly, trying to give the latest victim a proper burial. The young CSI turned his attention to the man's face; he looked almost...relieved. A stark contrast to the expression found on his wife.

Nick came up beside him, and Greg raised his camera, taking a shot of a wide view of their new crime scene. As with every investigation, the goal was to first get as much into the picture as possible. The next goal was to get close-ups with scales included of all pertinent evidence, along with the body. Afterwards would be to photograph whatever Nick would be doing. It was a painstakingly specific process, one of the more boring jobs Greg had to do as a CSI, but he enjoyed knowing his work would be viewed in court and taken very seriously. Greg wondered if that would happen before or after everyone was picked off one by one by whoever was behind this. Hollywood could make a movie about this case, he mused idly, and then wondered what they would call it.

"TOD had to have been in the last few hours," Nick stated, pulling Greg away from directing his blockbuster.

"At least since our interview," Greg added, blinking hard against the snow as he looked towards the family of four standing near the trees.

"What was he doing out here?" Nick asked, shaking his head in puzzlement. He looked back towards the direction of the main house, and Greg followed his gaze; it wasn't even visible from here. "All the way out here? Why?"

"Maybe he was lured out here," Greg suggested, pushing snow out of his wet hair. "Maybe he was with someone he thought he could trust."

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he regarded Officer Marino, who was standing on the other side of Suarez. "We're going to need another table to conserve his remains with Frankie. And we'll need some buckets for the snow surrounding his body."

"Sure," the man replied, as Officer Williams came up beside him. "Hey, Danny, can you find us another table and as many buckets as you can?"

"Yes, sir," he said, and then turned to Nick and Greg. "Did you guys get any leads during the interviews?"

"Nothing yet," Nick said, although Greg knew that wasn't entirely true. And while he personally couldn't make heads or tails of this right now, Greg also knew of Nick's reservations in trusting anyone, knew how many years of experience the older man had in this line of business, and knew he should stick to Nick's gut instincts. "Everyone's a suspect."

Greg looked at Nick, and then to the officers. Saw the directness not only in Nick's eyes, but could hear it clearly in his voice, and knew the officers had to have heard it too. Quickly, he knelt down by the body, pretending to focus on what was in front of him and not the uncomfortable shift of conversation beside him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Marino asked, his brow furrowed, his lips tight.

"It is what it is," Nick replied, shrugging almost casually. "All I know is, somebody here did it, and we don't know who."

---

Nick was man enough to admit he had some flaws. For example, maybe he'd made an error in judgement when he decided to grow that mustache. Perhaps sleeping with a prostitute he'd later been accused of murdering also hadn't been the wisest choice to make. And let's just say that telling the police they were on your list of suspects in a murder investigation was probably not the best idea Nick had ever had. Whatever, he thought. Add it to the steadily growing list of Stupid Things from the Mouth of Nicholas Parker Stokes.

He glanced at Greg from across the small tent serving as their makeshift morgue. The young man looked wet and cold and tired and just a plain mess, and Nick imagined he didn't look very different from his companion. Especially after moving the body up the hill, then collecting the surrounding snow in whatever buckets they could find and lugging those up the hill as well. One body, eight buckets, and three trips all together, and once they were finished, Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd had a workout that hard.

Currently, he was bent over Jamie Suarez' body, scraping evidence from beneath the dead man's fingernails. He placed the scrapings in a bag, but not before examining it with a trained eye.

"Looks like he got a piece of the killer," Nick stated, noting blood and hairs. "Might be something here."

Greg didn't even seem to care. He just shrugged as he placed a scale beside one of the stab wounds and snapped a picture.

"There's some brown fibers stuck in one of the wounds," Nick continued to say, as Greg continued to disregard him. "His wedding ring is missing, but not his wallet. There was no money in it, so I thought I could pawn this for some cash."

Greg tossed him a rather annoyed expression. So the young man _was_ paying attention. He asked, his tone exasperated, "Is his ring really missing?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, standing upright and arching his back in an attempt to relieve his aching muscles. "He might've taken it off. We'll have to search his cabin."

"It was on our list of things to do," Greg reminded him. "Along with sleeping and something about a long, hot shower."

Nick smiled, almost ruefully. "Hopefully we can fit it all in today. We have to search that cabin first, before anyone else gets to it. But you can trust me, I can hardly see straight and we'll be getting a bed soon."

Greg pursed his lips several times, his eyes cast to the ground before he said quietly, "You shouldn't have said anything to the cops. If one of them did this, it would be pretty easy for them to destroy our evidence. No one's going to point their finger at a cop, especially without any evidence. I know they were patrolling the area at the time, but if that's all we've got, it's not anything."

"I know," Nick stated, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm just getting frustrated. And this keeps getting worse."

"It isn't our job to worry about that," Greg said, coming around to put his camera in its case. "We just have to figure out who did this. Obviously the Suarez' were the target."

"Maybe Jamie knew who did it," Nick suggested. He suddenly felt a warm hand come up under the several layers of clothes he was wearing, and soon strong, slender fingers began kneading his sore back. "Maybe he didn't tell us because he wanted to take care of the killer himself."

"Maybe he was taken by surprise," Greg said, his words muffled by the glove he was holding between his teeth. "If it _was_ one of the cops, maybe he thought they were just going for a walk to talk."

"In this weather?" Nick asked, and then allowed a small groan to escape his lips as Greg worked out a knot. "What about the dad that lied about being with his family?"

"Why would he kill them?"

"Why would the cops?"

"Maybe Jamie thought they were going to show him something," Greg said, and while his hand left Nick's back, the heat was still seared into his skin. "I don't know. We have nothing solid to go on."

"Maybe we'll find something at the cabin," Nick hoped, turning to face Greg. He placed his hands on his boyfriend's slender waist, wishing they could be in bed together, sleeping soundly as they held each other close. Looking up into large brown eyes, he wondered how they could say so much and so little at the same time. "I'm glad it's you."

Greg pouted with puzzlement. "Huh?"

"I'm glad that if I'm stuck here," Nick clarified, "it's with you."

Greg offered him a small smile, before saying softly, "Good. Let's get the cabin over with so we can get one of our own and _sleep_. But not before you get out some of those 'frustrations.'"

Nick smiled, kissing Greg on the mouth very, very sweetly, hands cupped on either side of his face. "I hope so."

---

They trekked through the deep snow carefully -- or maybe wearily, Greg couldn't tell -- to get to the Suarez cabin. Officer Marino and Williams were standing out side of the door, having been told to keep an eye on the residence until Nick and Greg got there. The latter chose to avoid their eyes, although he could feel them on him. Instead, he looked at the door and noticed it had cracked in several places, especially by the knob. Curiously, he placed a hand on it; it pushed in with barely any force.

"What happened?" Nick asked first, his voice edged with anger.

"It was like this when we got here," Officer Marino stated, his voice anything but passive. "Place is a mess too."

"You went inside?" from Nick again, eyes afire.

"We saw the door busted in, had to clear the area," the older officer replied, and then shrugged. "Wonder who could've done such a nasty thing."

Greg finally looked up in surprise, having been a CSI for a short enough time to still be naive enough to believe people didn't do things like this, especially cops. He could see Marino staring off into the trees, but when he looked at Williams next he was startled when he saw the man staring right back at him. He was smiling, almost pleasantly, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

"Nick," Greg said, touching his arm gently, feeling him trembling with anger. "Let's go inside and get started."

"Yeah," the senior CSI replied with a nod, and followed Greg in, closing the door behind him as best as he could. "This is bullshit."

Greg agreed silently. It _was_ bullshit, and the place definitely _was_ a mess. The two open suitcases were empty, but the couple's clothes were not in the closet. Instead, they were strewn about the cabin, along with the rest of their belongings: A laptop broken on the floor, dishware and glasses shattered, bed covers in disarray, and even the television was busted in. Greg traded his winter gloves for latex ones, moving first to a women's wallet lying on the floor.

"This definitely wasn't a robbery," he stated, pulling out at least five hundred dollars in cash. He caught sight of the glowing face of Frances Suarez on a New York state driver's license and it almost broke his heart. He wished this was the way he had known her, alive and happy to be changing her last name at the DMV, but he knew the way he would always remember her was the way they had found her. "Maybe...Jamie did this in anger?"

"Yeah, right," Nick spat, his body tense with barely contained rage. "This was done in anger, all right, but not by Jamie. It was those fucking pigs out there."

Greg lowered his case to the ground and extracted his camera, pretending to adjust the settings as he said quietly," Even if they did this, it doesn't mean they killed them."

"I know that!" Nick replied. Suddenly the older man turned, kicking the dresser effectively and leaving a dent in the cheap wood. Greg winced with surprise but didn't say anything more. Instead, he set to work photographing, knowing when to keep his mouth shut. He could see Nick pacing near him, needing to let out the energy contained within himself by collecting evidence but waiting for Greg to finish to do so. Then, suddenly: "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Greg asked, pausing in his task to look at his man. Standing in the corner, hands on his hips, defeat and weariness written all over his face, Greg had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around Nick and tell him it was going to be okay.

"For giving us more work," Nick replied, and sighed. "Why don't you ever stop me from saying stupid things, Greg? You know how I always do that."

The young man only smiled. "Sometimes it's endearing."

---

The Suarez cabin bore plenty of evidence, but just like the one Frankie had been murdered in, nothing was of use without a lab to process it. Nick was so discouraged he was almost to the point of giving up. Half of him was ready to throw in the towel and lay down in a warm cabin with a down comforter and wrap himself up in a cocoon with his man. The other half was tired and cold and angry with himself for offering a challenge to police officers. No, Nick and Greg couldn't say they were the ones that had ransacked the cabin, and probably couldn't even prove it with forensic evidence considering they'd admitted to being inside after clearing the place. But he felt it in every bone of his body, and wished that counted for something.

He clicked his CSI kit closed, trying to close off his thoughts at the same time. He was definitely ready to sleep, and Greg's form told him the same thing. The young man was sitting against the front door, knees drawn up, head leaning back, eyes closed. Nick smiled softly, coming up beside him and nudging him with a steel-toed boot. Greg's eyes snapped open as he startled awake, and he stood hastily, trying to seem casual, and it was actually kind of cute.

"Are we finished here?" he asked, rather sheepishly as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, I solved the case while you were in dreamland," Nick replied, grinning. "It was the Colonel in the library with a candlestick."

Greg pulled a face. "What?"

"We're finished here," Nick stated, trying to restrain his amusement.

"Are you sure?" Greg asked, slightly puzzled in his waking state. "Because I can -- "

"No," Nick interrupted, holding out his hand in protest. "We're finished here. We've been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, Greg. Pretty soon we'll be delusional. We need to rest. Without rest we can't think straight. Without thinking straight, we can't figure this out. It's five o'clock, we can catch a couple of hours and if the roads aren't clear by the time we get up, we at least know we can go over everything again with clear heads. We'll figure this out."

"Are you done?" Greg asked, yawning. "Because I almost fell asleep again listening to you talk."

---

The cabin they were allowed to sleep in was the same as the two they had investigated, minus a body and a huge mess to clean up. However, it was hard for Greg not to imagine it that way, since it was the only way he had seen the identical space before him. Slowly, he stepped inside of the heated cabin and shrugged off his jacket, before stomping his boots on the welcome mat and pulling them off of his feet. They fell to the floor loudly and next came his wet socks, peeling off of his skin and landing softly to the carpet in contrast. Stepping to the bed, he peeled back the covers, half-expecting to find a bloodbath beneath it; he was almost surprised when all he saw was a mattress.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked, removing his own socks, and next came all of the layers of shirts he was wearing with one foul swoop. Greg started but recovered quickly, smiling as he saw bare skin, his eyes traveling over the muscles and up to Nick's handsome face.

"I am now," the young man replied, coming up close to his boyfriend, standing flush to him. He placed his hands on Nick's smooth skin and was delighted when the older man pulled away in shock.

"Your hands are freezing!" Nick nearly shrieked, stepping away from him.

"Care to warm me up?" Greg asked, his smile wicked, as he attempted to follow him.

"No!" Nick exclaimed, one of his legs clipping the back of a desk chair. "Get away from me! I'm a lot stronger than you and I am not afraid to hit a man."

Greg laughed, pausing in his chase. "Fine. How about you just get the shower ready, then?"

---

The water was hot. Steam poured over the shower curtain and engulfed the room, creating a sauna that Nick had been dreaming of since he'd gotten to this God forsaken place. The water hit his face and hair, and then he leaned his head forward, allowing it to fall down his neck and back. His aching muscles nearly screamed in pure joy, his mouth murmured sweet nothings in ecstasy. And when he felt arms around him, when he felt a lithe yet strong body against his back, when he felt those feather-light kisses on his neck, he knew he was in Heaven.

He turned around, placing his hands on that slender waist, pulling Greg close. For a moment, they just stood there under the heat, holding each other. And for a moment, Nick felt his mind come to ease, felt the silence of the moment, and felt at peace. They weren't trapped at a resort in a snowstorm, there was no one murdering newlyweds, and there was definitely no dick cops fucking up crime scenes.

Sliding his hands up to Greg's face, he held delicate features between them and kissed soft lips. Felt that tongue brushing over his teeth and hands grabbing his ass, pulling him closer, and soon there was no more soft kissing. It was hard and desperate and needy, he needed this -- _they_ needed this. He could feel the desire emanating from Greg in waves, crashing against him with a force he'd never felt before.

"Nicky," Greg breathed into his mouth, his breath hotter than the temperature of the water around them. "Oh, Nicky, please."

That was all the permission he needed. He pushed him back against the cool tile roughly, hands traveling from the younger man's face to his biceps. He encased them with strong hands and tried to see how far he could stick his tongue down Greg's throat, was satisfied when he heard the stifled moan of his lover. The growing erection against his thigh didn't go unnoticed, and, hands moving again, Nick rewarded Greg with a tight grip, jerking him off slowly. He soon felt slender fingers wrapping around his own cock, a thumb flicking expertly over the sensitive head, another hand at the back of his neck possessively, pulling him deeper into their kiss.

"Oh, God," he heard, and was surprised when he recognized his own voice. He pushed further into that hand, tried to push Greg further into the wall, wanted to fuck him right through it. The intensity of this primal urge overcame him to the degree that he _had_ to do it, and he had to do it _now_.

Suddenly, he turned his lover, pressed against his back and pressed his erection against his buttocks. Greg groaned loudly as he hit the wall and Nick promised he would make the young man speechless by the end of this night. He flailed for the little bottles of toiletries on the shelf, encased his fingers around one of them and was pleased with himself when he saw he had grabbed the conditioner. Experience had taught him it was the best bathroom lubricant when he found himself in dire situations such as these and had no time to fish through the naughty drawer for the Astroglide.

He squeezed the bottle sloppily into his hand and stroked his own member hastily, aching to be inside of his lover. Grabbing a fistful of Greg's hair, he pulled the young man's head back and scraped his teeth over his neck as he pushed into him slowly and steadily, fighting the urge to enter him in a hard thrust lest he hurt him.

"Nicky, Nicky," Greg gasped, his palms pressed against the shower wall, fingers curling as if to cling to it. "Oh, yes, please, yes..."

When they had first had sex, Nick had not been surprised Greg liked to talk considering the kid never shut up any other time of the day. Why should sex be any different? What he didn't realize was how much he would enjoy it. He loved hearing Greg tell him how much he liked it, loved hearing his name in that breathy whine, loved it more when the young man was rendered speechless and all that was left was whimpering and squealing.

Nick usually only made any noise when he was climaxing, grunting and groaning as he exploded inside of his lover. But once he had tried talking. Only once. He had grabbed Greg's hair much like he was doing now, except he had been on top of him, face to face. And he looked him in the eye and said, "You like that, don't you?" And Greg had paused for exactly one second before he began laughing uncontrollably, almost on the verge of giggling. Told Nick he sounded like a porn star and he had never spoken a word again. Silence, sometimes, was truly golden.

Now, he thrust inside of him hard, having given Greg enough time to adjust to Nick's girth inside of him. He clasped his hands around Greg's wrists, holding him up against the wall as he attempted to fuck him through it, pumping into him with fervor. It was the release he'd been waiting for, the sweet escape he'd been imagining in the back of his mind during the entire investigation. It was what he often thought of during any day of the week, even when he was elbow deep in blood and guts at the morgue assisting Doctor Robbins with an autopsy.

"Nicky," Greg said again, gasping as the older man grasped his erection, jerking him off as he fucked him. "Oh, God. Oh, my God. Nicky...Nicky..._Nick_!"

The younger man was quiet for a fraction of a second and then he was coming hard, shaking against him and moaning into the tiles. Nick wasn't too far behind. The familiar throbbing around his cock was nearly enough to throw him over the edge, but he clung desperately for a few more moments until he was groaning unintelligible words into Greg's ear, gripping his hips and trying to push so far into him they became one person and shared one heart.

They stood there for a while under the hot water, until their breathing evened and Nick pulled out slowly, boneless. He heard Greg mutter something about a mess as the young man pushed his way to the showerhead, grabbing the soap and rinsing himself off. Nick and Greg had chosen to stop using protection when their semi-annual STD test had revealed they were both completely healthy. Nick hadn't had unprotected sex in God knew how long, and he hadn't remembered how good it felt to be skin-to-skin with someone, let alone someone he cared about and felt such a desire for.

Greg turned to him then, smiling almost lazily and wrapping his arms around Nick's shoulders. "Thank you. Even if you are messy."

Nick grinned, before kissing the other man's lips softly. "You're welcome."

---

Awake. Greg's eyes snapped open and he craned his neck to listen hard. Something had awoken him from deep sleep, something that had to have been loud but he missed it somewhere between REM and consciousness. He looked at Nick, snoring softly beside him, back turned to him. The older man slept rather soundly, requiring nothing short of a sonic boom to wake him from slumber. Greg listening for a minute more, hearing his own breathing and the soft hum of the radiator but nothing more.

Slowly, he rested his head back on the down feather pillow, turning his own back to Nick and staring out one of the windows and into the night. He tried to believe that he was just being jumpy because of the situation they were in. He tried to believe that his mind was in overdrive, his body was aching from lack of rest, his nerves were fried and his heart was on the verge of cardiac arrest. It was nothing. He was fine. And he was closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Again. And this time, he recognized the sound. Someone at the door, twisting the knob and scratching at the lock. He shot up in bed, flicking on the light at the nightstand, attempting to scare away whoever was trying to get in. He reached out a hand to the man beside him, shaking him violently.

"Nick!" he whispered harshly. "Nick, wake up!"

"What?" he asked, rolling onto his back, squinting at the bright light. "What's wrong, Greggo? Did you have a bad dream?"

"No. I heard something," Greg stated, his eyes wide as he searched the windows. "I heard someone at the door."

Nick immediately shot up, reaching for his gun on the nightstand beside him. Cocked and ready within seconds, he raised it and stepped out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Greg asked, startled.

"I'm going to check it out."

"What? You don't know who's out there!"

"I have a gun."

"Okay," Greg said slowly, raising his eyebrows. "What if they have a gun too?"

"Then I hope I have better aim."

"What? No!"

"No?"

"No," Greg repeated. "I...forbid you from going out there."

Nick blinked. "I'll be right back."

Before he could even turn towards the door, lightening was cracking outside and the windows were exploding inwards. The space was small, and Greg felt glass hit his face before he could pull his arms up in deflection. He screamed, closing his eyes and shielding himself from the continued assault, and suddenly arms were around him, pushing him over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He felt a shock in his shoulder as it hit the nightstand, another in his spine as he landed on the ground. Time slowed and Greg wasn't sure how long it had been before there was a deafening silence that stretched on into eternity. Opening his eyes, he could see Nick above him, eyes wild as his brain tried to process what had happened. The older man still had one hand gripping his gun, and the other was gripping Greg's shirt in his fist, pressing him into the floor.

"Nick," he said, the word exploding from his mouth in a harsh breath.

"Are you okay?" the other man asked, before he could say anything more. "You're bleeding."

"So are you," Greg replied. Glass flying through the air at high velocity had left it's mark on Greg and Nick, leaving some remnants in their delicate skin but mostly scalpel-precise lacerations. Greg at least thanked God they still had their eyes as he attempted to sit up, but Nick pushed him back down rather forcefully.

"Stay down," Nick hissed, looking over the top of the bed and through the windows. "I'll be right back."

"No!" Greg cried, grabbing the man's shirt, gripping him tight. "Nick, they're still out there! You could get killed!"

"It's okay," Nick replied, except it wasn't. "I'll be fine."

"You aren't a fucking cop anymore, okay?" Greg pleaded, clenching fists around the fabric of Nick's shirt so hard he cold feel his nails digging into his palms. "Get over it, Nick. Just wait for a minute and we'll walk to the main house together."

"Greg -- "

"Just wait!"

"I'll be back in a second."

"Nicky, _please_."

"I promise."

Greg closed his eyes, knowing when he had lost a battle, and felt the shirt escape from his hands, felt the weight remove from on top of him. And when he opened his eyes again and peered over the bed, the front door was open and Nick was gone.

---

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

So there's this part of every story called a climax, and I'm about to get there. It just means that it's going to take a while for the next chapter to be published, and that I haven't forgotten about it.

---

Nick tread purposefully down the front steps of the cabin, stepping into the ground softly. The snow had stopped falling sometime during when they'd been sleeping, and now he was more thankful for it than ever, relieved that he could see a little better in the darkness than he would've in a blizzard. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the roads would be cleared in the morning now that the storm had let up, but right now he had more pressing issues to worry about. Such as whoever had decided to use their cabin for target practice.

It was hard to stalk silently when the snow crunched under his feet, but he took slow and deliberate steps, trying to move as unnoticeably as possible. Back pressed to the wooden cabin, he walked towards the side of the house, one eye on the path in front of him and the other to the woods before him, a careful ear straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. It was unnervingly quiet, but Nick supposed it was quite easy to run into the woods and hide while your victims were recovering from a barrage of bullets. However, it was still disquieting to suspect the assailant had left and yet still feel eerily watched at the same time.

Quickly, he peered around the side of the cabin, drawing his head back lest he lose it. He hadn't seen anything, and there were no footprints in the snow. Whoever had done this must've been in the trees directly in front of the cabin, but Nick was neither willing nor dumb enough to venture into the dense forrest around them. For now, he would make sure their immediate surrounding area was safe before deciding what to do next.

He turned the corner of the cabin fast and low, extending his arms out and aiming his gun expertly, drawing it back towards himself when he saw it was clear. While he was glad to not be a police officer anymore, he was still grateful that he had the experience and was able to take care of himself when he needed to. Well, himself _and_ Greg, who he really needed to teach to use a gun one of these days. Hell, the only time the level CSI had ever even held one was while processing it as evidence.

Briefly, his mind travelled to the young man, waiting in the cabin for him. For a moment, he tried to switch roles and understand the fear Greg had had in letting him go out the door, but the fact that he had let him go made Nick feel a little better. It showed that he really trusted him, possibly with his life. Although that was something Nick didn't want to dwell on right now, somewhat because he wasn't sure if he could handle it. Mostly because he didn't want to think about what it meant.

He had made it to the other side of the cabin without incident, his eyes and ears picking up nothing. He was about to turn the corner and come back inside when he cast his eyes to the woods once more. He could still feel that crawl on the nape of his neck, the burning feeling of someone watching him. Someone out there, someone that he couldn't see, hiding in the thick shadows. It angered him so intensely that he wanted to scream for whoever had done this to come out and show himself, to throw down his gun and fight like a real man. In Nick's fantasy, he would then end this with a brutal beating and feel incredibly good about it.

But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to go back into the cabin, where Greg was waiting for him. He almost stepped back towards the front of the house -- almost. But the woods were silently seducing him, their unheard song sweeter than that of the Sirens. So he lifted one foot off of the ground and started towards them, always unable to resist temptation.

---

Greg sat behind the side of the bed, his back to the mattress. He wasn't sure how long he had been in the dark, waiting. Gunfire had shattered not only the lamp but also the single digital clock in the cabin; it could have been minutes, it could have been hours. But no matter how long he sat there, he couldn't settle his nerves and stop his hands from shaking, stop his breath from exploding in harsh bursts.

He leaned his head back against the mattress, bouncing his knees and drumming his fingers against his shins. Nick told him to stay here, and that he would be back in a minute. It had been...a lot longer than that? Maybe. Nick also had a gun, and Greg was defenseless. Even if he did go out there to try to find his stupid boyfriend, he wouldn't have a fighting chance if he ran into whoever had decided to shoot up their cabin -- Muay Thai lessons or not.

Raggedly, he rubbed his face with one hand, then pressed a fist to his lips. He craned his neck to look back over the bed and to the open door. Leaned back for a fraction of a second before --

"Fuck it."

With a deep breath he stood up, grabbing his jacket off of the desk chair and shrugging it on, careful to avoid any shards of glass. He caught sight of his own skin through a newly acquired bullet hole and thought it actually made the worn leather look cooler. Next came his socks and shoes, and then he was inching his way to the front door.

Carefully, he stepped down the steps and into the snow, trying to peer into the trees but all he saw was dense blackness. His eyes caught no movements, but he knew that didn't mean someone wasn't out there, watching him. Waiting to add a new bullet hole in his jacket that wouldn't be so cool. It had actually stopped snowing, the first time during their entire forced stay, and luckily for Greg he could now see a set of footprints that he hoped were Nick's, because they were the only ones out here and he was about to follow them.

Slowly, he travelled to the side of the house, peeking around the corner before proceeding. No Nick yet; the only thing he could see was his own breath escaping from him in white puffs. He kept a watchful eye on the edge of the woods, trying to concentrate on walking down the side of the house and not getting shot by a concealed assailant at the same time. The footprints continued to the back of the house and so did Greg, stepping around them in case they were evidence. Which he surely hoped not. Following a killer to his actual location was not exactly something Greg was prepared for.

There was a snap of wood from...somewhere and everywhere at the same time. He turned his head, trying to locate the sound as he pressed his back to the cabin. It was too dark, he couldn't see anything, just shadows and looming trees. So he stood there, silent and still, hearing the soft crunch of snow. He turned his head again, but was too afraid to turn completely around and see what was behind him.

Suddenly, it was quiet. Incredibly quiet. There was another crunch of snow, this one slow and deliberate. A footstep, someone trying to move unnoticeably, but Greg noticed. Someone was behind him, trying to sneak up on him. And while he hadn't entirely been sure what to expect, he certainly hadn't been expecting this. Then again, this entire trip had been sort of unexpected, so he supposed by now he should expect the unexpected, and if that was the case, then he should've expected this.

It was funny the things that ran through a man's head, the same things that could be the last things he'd ever think. And Greg was sure glad that in his dying moments, no one would know that he had thought about unexpected things, and whether or not to expect them.

"Freeze!" he heard, and was almost sure he would need a new pair of underwear. He shot his hands up instinctively, recognizing the voice behind him and turning slowly.

"It's me," he called, squinting in the night to see Nick's dark form.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, lowering his gun. "I could've shot you!"

"I couldn't wait any longer!" Greg argued, coming up to his man, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. "You were gone forever!"

Nick glanced at his digital watch, pressing a small button on the side to make it glow in the dark. The small light illuminated his face for a moment, until he let the button go. "It was like, ten minutes."

"Oh," Greg said quietly, beside himself. "It felt a lot longer."

And though it was very, very dark, Greg could still see Nick roll his eyes.

---

Nick had been about to cross into the woods when he'd heard someone stumbling through the snow, catching his immediate attention. He should've realized it was Greg, unable to move with stealth no matter how desperately he tried. After all, the guy couldn't even get through a day at the Lab without breaking something or hurting himself. Nick just thanked God he had been the one to find him, and not whoever had decided to use their cabin for target practice.

Now, they sat on the edge of the bed in the cabin, which was as cold inside as it was out there. Nick supposed the lack of windows might've had something to do with that. They had decided to leave the lights off, not wanting to be seen from outside, but beyond that, Greg was as equally lost for ideas as Nick was.

"Should we...collect evidence?" Greg asked hesitantly, as he held toilet paper against a wound on his forearm that had yet to coagulate. The other was rolling a bullet he had found near the nightstand, the same one he'd assumed had exploded the ceramic lamp.

"I don't know," Nick replied quietly. He looked at the man seated beside him, only able to discern the outline of his face in the dark, but just knowing he was there was comforting. "We aren't safe here anymore."

"Yeah," the younger man deadpanned. "I think the holes in the cabin gave that away."

"We should just go back to the main house and wait," Nick suggested.

"For what?" Greg asked. "It's not like we can call for help, the phones have been dead since the storm came, and it's six hours until sunrise. And even if we got service out here, it's not like we could get help to come with the roads the way they are. And if they _do_ clear them, whoever did this is going to leave -- and get away."

"We're done investigating."

"What?" Greg asked, startled, and though it was dark Nick could feel his eyes on him. "Nick, we can't give up."

"We can and we are," he stated indignantly. "This is getting too dangerous. We could get ourselves killed."

"No, I mean we _can't_. Are you forgetting that we're stuck here?" Greg reminded him. "It doesn't matter if we stop investigating or not, we're CSIs and we're being targeted. It's too late, Nick. We can't stop now."

Nick crossed his arms over his chest, silent for a moment before saying, "Why do you always have to be right?"

"Because I'm smarter than you." Nick sighed, and Greg continued, "Aww, don't be upset. You're the brawn and I'm the brains. We make a great team. Look, a bullet. There's a hole in my jacket too. It's kind of cool."

Nick tossed Greg a rather wry expression before slipping his flashlight out of his pocket, turning it on and shining it on the small piece of metal between Greg's slender fingers. He slipped it between his own fingers and held it up, examining it under the harsh light. Suddenly, he looked up at Greg, his expression puzzled.

"Hold these for a second," he said, handing the bullet and flashlight to Greg as he pulled out his own gun, expelling the automatic cartridge. He removed one bullet, holding it in one hand and the used bullet in the other. "I'm no Bobby Dawson, but this looks like it came from a .40 Smith and Wesson."

"Well, that's...your gun," Greg stated, his eyes on the bullets, but soon they focused on Nick's.

"Yeah," Nick replied, nodding. "A standard issue LVPD gun."

---

Greg wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers until the roads were cleared and the rest of the team had arrived to figure this all out. He supposed if that were at all possible, he might be able to ignore the below freezing temperature in the cabin and the shards of glass and bullets littering the bed. He could take it, as long as he could just avoid the rest of this agonizing investigation.

While he hadn't really thought this adventure could get any worse, he had been sorely mistaken. First they had been shot at, and now they realized one or both of the two men who were supposed to be protecting them were now their prime suspects.

"Suspects?" Nick asked, incredulous. "I'm not sure how much more proof you need that they did this."

"Excuse me for wanting to believe cops are the good guys."

Anyway, here they were, sitting in their destroyed cabin, having been rudely awaken from their much needed rest, wondering what in God's name they were going to do next. Despite Nick not trusting Marino and Williams earlier, they were truly alone now, with no one to turn to even as a last resort.

"Not necessarily," Nick stated, turning to Greg, the moonlight illuminating his face. And Greg definitely didn't like that look: Nick was _thinking_, and when that was involved, nothing good could come out of it. "What if we go to them for help and pretend we don't suspect them."

"I think you've already ruined that," Greg reminded him. "Specifically when you said, 'Everyone's a suspect.'"

"Look, Greg," Nick continued, dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand, "we just got shot at and we're...scared. Upset. So we go to them and ask for help."

Greg waited, but nothing else came from the older man's mouth. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And then what?"

"And then we arrest them."

"For what?"

"Shooting at us!"

"We can't just arrest them based on substantial evidence," Greg said indignantly, "which is all we have right now."

"Then we'll just have to get a confession," Nick stated, shrugging as if it were the simplest way to go about this whole mess.

"This plan sucks," Greg said, his face falling. "This is why I'm the brains and you're the brawn."

"You got a better one, Einstein?"

"Well...I...we could..." Greg pursed his lips several times, before sighing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Then, quietly: "No."

"What was that?" Nick asked, holding a hand to his ear theatrically, pretending to listen hard. "I didn't hear you."

"I said no!"

"Then let's go."

Nick stood up, holding out a hand to Greg, and the younger man took it in his, allowing Nick to help him off of the bed. Stepping close, Nick slipped his hands beneath Greg's shirt, placing them on slender hips. His bare skin was warm, and Greg ached for his comfort, feeling trapped and vulnerable in this situation, wanting nothing more than to be back at Nick's apartment, back at their home.

"Hey," Nick murmured softly, bringing up a hand to brush hair off of Greg's forehead with gentle fingers. He looked up into brown eyes, his own fingertips trailing down the side of Nick's face, finding rough stubble and soon smooth, soft lips.

"Nick," he whispered, wondering if this was the last time they would be like this, wondering how dangerous Nick's idea really was, wondering if they would make it out of this resort alive. He loved this man, the man in front of him that was strong and funny and handsome and everything Greg had ever asked for. The same man that could press him up against the shower roughly and bite his neck, the same man that could cook them dinner and cuddle on the couch afterwards. The same man that Greg had lived without for so long, and probably could again, but definitely didn't want to.

"Nick, I -- "

"Let's go," that same man interrupted, his eyes telling Greg everything and nothing at the same time. And then he was escaping from Greg's fingers once more, leaving him standing in the middle of the cabin, alone.

---

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

And..._climax! _I hope it was worth the wait. I have been incredibly busy and apologize for taking so long in getting this posted. Ignore any mistakes, I posted this as quickly as possible after completing it.

---

"Are you sure," Greg asked, breathing heavy, sweating despite the cold, "that this is such a good idea?"

"We already talked about this," Nick replied, glancing at him with exasperation. "We don't have any other ideas."

They were trekking through the deep snow, lifting their legs high just to get through it at a moderate pace. They were heading to Officer Marino's cabin against Greg's better judgement. But it was Nick's idea, and Greg trusted him wholeheartedly. Nick wouldn't let anything happen to Greg, after all. He'd promised it on many occasions...although Greg hadn't heard those words tonight. But that was okay, Nick would protect him. He wouldn't do anything stupid or rash, for lack of a better idea. Right?

"Right," Greg said, nodding once. "We don't have any other ideas. This is the _only_ idea. But is it a good one?"

Suddenly, Nick stopped, and Greg followed suit, turning to look back at him. It was dark, clouds were even shrouding the moon, but he could still see Nick clearly in the night. Could see the worry in his eyes, the confusion there; wondering, thinking, planning, and perhaps coming up with a blank. Neither man knew what was going to happen, if this plan was going to work, but they were going to try. They had to at least try, before anyone else got hurt. Before anyone got away with murder.

"Okay," Greg said, before Nick could say anything, because Greg already knew. "Let's do this."

He allowed Nick to step beside him, waiting to proceed in their hike. When they started walking again, Greg felt an unexpected hand in his, giving him pause. He assumed Nick was trying to stop him for a moment, maybe to say something to him, but when the older man kept walking, he did too. Gently, he felt a comforting squeeze, and they continued on their journey, together.

---

The cabin was illuminated on the inside by a small light. What little shone on the snow was swallowed by the darkness, black tendrils of fingers scratching and pulling it into the surrounding forrest. For such a small structure, it was formidable, if only because of what lay inside of it.

Nick watched from the trees, eyes focused on the drawn windows. He could see Greg standing beside him in his peripheral vision, trying to seem stoic but the shaking in the hand Nick grasped gave him away. Somehow, he knew it wasn't the cold.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the scene that was about to unfold. He couldn't imagine what would happen, but coming face to face with a killer and calling him out on it didn't usually end well. He was prepared for violence, his gun holster already unbuttoned, ready to draw at a moment's notice. Suddenly, he wondered what Greg would use for protection, and he nearly wanted to give Greg his weapon. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that the young man had never used a gun before, not even for target practice. He briefly wondered if Greg had ever even fired one in the lab.

"If anything happens," Nick said, looking at the man standing beside him. "I want you to run."

"What?" Greg asked, his expression showing his incredulity. "Why would I run?"

"You don't have anything to protect you."

"I have you."

Nick looked back at the cabin and almost wished Greg hadn't said that. Because while Nick would protect Greg at all costs, he could never guarantee that he would be successful. Especially when the officers were armed, when Nick was armed, and all Greg had were those lame Muay Thai training classes. He wanted to say that, wanted to warn Greg that Nick was only human, but the nervous twitching in Greg's hand had dissipated. And while lying to Greg was something he could've never imagined before this, Nick would rather have the young CSI go in confident than scared.

So instead, he said, "Don't worry, Greggo. I've got your back."

"I know."

Nick smiled only briefly, wondered only briefly how someone could trust him so much, before taking a step forward, his hand slipping out of Greg's. He pulled his collar up, changing his expression expertly to that of someone in distress, trying not to seem too flamboyant at the same time. He looked back at Greg, saw his brow furrowed and immediately Greg followed his lead, ever perceptible. They began to trot, heading to the front door.

"Marino!" Nick called, knocking desperately. "Marino, open up!"

There was a long pause wherein Nick knocked several more times before he heard a shuffling from the other side. Locks sliding and then Marino was at the door in his boxers and undershirt, looking disheveled. Looking as if he just woke up. Quickly, Nick shared a glance with Greg, and could see the wonder in his eyes. Was Marino as good an actor as the two men were trying to be? Or had he really been sleeping this whole time?

"What the hell?" the officer muttered, rubbing at his face with one hand. "What's wrong?"

"Our cabin was just shot up," Nick replied in a quick breath. "We waited a little while and then got out of there. We didn't know where else to go."

"So...what?" Marino asked, eyes shifting between them suspiciously. "Y'all came here to accuse me?"

"No," Nick said hastily. "We came here because we don't know what else to do. I know we've had our differences, but this is getting dangerous. You're a cop, we're civilians. We need your help."

"I thought everyone was a suspect," Marino stated, an eyebrow cocked. "Including myself. What makes you think I didn't do this?"

"I was just angry," Nick replied, wondering how much longer he could pretend to not want to arrest the two officers and possibly provide them with a good old fashioned beat down. "But this is serious. Please, let us in."

The officer silently moved aside, allowing Nick and Greg passage. Immediately, Nick felt the warmth of the cabin as he crossed the threshold, wondering how thankful he should be to get out of the cold when the consequence was stepping into a potential murderer's home. Next, he gave the cabin a quick glance, his eyes processing everything as fast as possible: gun holster hanging from the desk chair, bed unmade, television on, back to Marino's face.

"So tell me what happened," the man said, his smile almost smug, presumably at the thought of the two distressed CSIs asking for his help after accusing him of murder only hours earlier.

"We were asleep and all of a sudden there was gunfire," Nick replied, and then indicated the cuts on his face and arms. "The windows got blown in, but luckily this is the worst of the injuries. We waited a little while to make sure it was clear, and now we're here."

"I'm sorry," Greg interrupted, saying it as if to excuse himself. "I really need to use the bathroom. I got kind of excited for a while there and I really have to go."

Marino regarded him carefully before indicating the small hallway, remaining silent. Nick looked at the young man, his expression of embarrassment so clear he had to wonder if he was really faking it. Hurriedly, Greg moved towards the hall and turned the corner, and then he was out of sight, leaving Nick and the officer alone.

"So why this change of heart?" Marino asked, as Nick turned his back and peered out the window, pretending to eye the landscape for interlopers. "A couple hours ago, we were suspects. And now you're coming to me for help?"

"I told you," Nick said, his eyes on the dense foliage. "I was angry. This is frustrating, Marino. I don't know what to think anymore."

"You know what I think?" the man behind him said with an even tone. "I think you came here to find out if it was me that did this. I think you came here to get me to admit to this. Would that make you feel better? If I told you I snuck up to your cabin late at night and tried to kill the only two people in the world that think I raped and murdered that girl, and then killed her husband?"

While his intuitiveness was alarming, Nick didn't have time to dwell in it. Instead, he slowly raised a hand to his hip, adjusting his position and turning slightly sideways so Marino wouldn't see him do it. Carefully, he grasped the handle of his gun, saying, "Not unless it was the truth."

"What do you think?"

Nick turned, drawing his weapon as he did so, the muzzle of his gun trained on the police officer. However, it had seemed he'd been too late; Officer Marino already had his own gun trained on Nick.

"I think you need to lower your weapon," Nick replied, his hands shaking with adrenaline. "Just put it down and we can do this the easy way."

"Really?" Marino said, and while he was smirking, his eyes gave away his unease. "Why don't you drop yours, and _then_ we'll talk."

"Wait!" came from the hallway, and Greg emerged into the main room with haste. Immediately, Marino turned the gun on him, and Greg responded by raising his hands up in surrender, casting Nick a wild stare.

"Greg," Nick warned. "Step over here -- slowly."

"Don't move," Marino ordered.

"Wait," Greg repeated, and this time he held his hands out in a pleading gesture; Nick couldn't help but notice the tremor in them, and it nearly broke him. "We know you didn't do it."

"Doesn't seem that way to me," the officer said, his eyes shifting between Greg and Nick, the gun still aimed at Greg's chest.

"No. No, no, no," Greg pleaded, shaking his head. Suddenly, he met Nick's eyes. "His clothes are in the washing machine."

"So what?" Nick asked, wondering what in God's name Greg was getting at, hoping he'd get to it before there was a bullet in his chest. "Maybe he just threw them in."

"No. The cycle went all the way through. They're stuck against the sides, and they've been in there so long they're almost dry," Greg stated, and then indicated the hallway that Nick couldn't see down. "His boots are next to the washer. They aren't wet like ours, because he hasn't been in the snow. It wasn't him, Nick. It wasn't him."

Slowly, carefully, with his eyes still on Marino, Nick lowered his gun. He was relieved when the other man did the same, if hesitantly so. Greg expelled a deep breath from across the room as he dropped his hands to his sides, remaining tensely where he was standing.

"If he didn't do it," Nick began, "then who did?"

Greg opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead of offering an answer, he merely shrugged. God, they'd been so close. They had been _so close_ to grasping this whole thing that Nick could nearly feel it; his fingertips inches from the flame, feeling the heat but not yet touching the fire. What had he really been thinking? That he could just come over here all attitude and blazing guns? That Marino would just admit to everything in a sloppy, heartfelt confession and allow himself to be led away in custody? Instead, all he got was a sleepy, cranky cop that was only trying to do his job, stuck up here just like Nick and Greg.

Nick and Greg.

Marino and...

"Where's Officer Williams?" Nick suddenly asked, looking around the room as if he'd somehow missed the young officer.

"I don't know," Marino replied, sneering. "_We_ don't share a cabin."

Nick saw Greg roll his eyes but ignored the offhand comment himself, instead focusing on his current train of thought. "Can you take us there?"

"Danny didn't do this," Marino stated, shaking his head vehemently. "He's a little wild, but he's a good kid. He would never do this."

"We found .40 caliber rounds in our cabin," Nick said, pulling the expelled bullet out of his pocket. "From a standard issue LVPD gun. The only people that have one are me, you, and Williams. I guess he just got a little 'wild' and decided to use our cabin for target practice, huh?"

"No, no," Marino said, looking at Greg almost as if to plead with someone who might understand him. Nick found, while investigating with Greg, that this happened more often than not. Greg supposed it was the handsome face and boyish charm. Nick supposed it was because he was young, and he hadn't been a CSI long enough to lose the innocence reflected in his eyes yet. "The murderer must've taken it and tried to kill you."

"When would he have taken it?" Greg asked. "He's been with you all night, hasn't he?"

"Except for the past few hours."

"Then maybe we should make sure he's all right," Greg said, his eyes meeting Nick's for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Nick to recognize what he was doing: planting a seed of doubt. "What if he's hurt?"

Officer Marino shifted his gaze between the two men. His expression displayed his distaste, and Nick knew he must not have liked the position he was in: worried about his partner, knowing he was walking into a trap, but needing to see if Williams was all right.

"Fine," Marino spat, glaring at the two men before him. "Let me get my clothes."

---

Officer Danny Williams' cabin was dark. Greg stood at the edge of the woods with Nick and Marino, his eyes searching the windows for any sign of movement. He imagined that along with the complete blackness of the night, it would be eerily silent. No birds, no nocturnal animals, not even the sounds of the men breathing beside him. Like he said, he had to _imagine_ it, because his heart was beating so hard in his chest he swore it could be heard for miles. Briefly, he wondered if Nick and Marino could hear it.

"See?" Marino said, interrupting the supposed silence. "He's probably sleeping."

"Let's just make sure," Nick stated, taking a step into the yard. He looked back briefly, smiling almost reassuringly to the officer. "We've already come this far."

Marino followed Nick, and Greg followed Marino. There was a palpable hesitance in the air that was visible in the cautious steps Nick took towards the cabin, however confident he might've seemed. It was making Greg even more nervous, knowing the senior CSI was wary, and the young man kept checking over his shoulder in fear of someone sneaking up on them. He tried to believe that it was his job since he was bringing up the rear, but, in all sincerity, he was scared shitless.

It was one thing to go to a crime scene after the fact. It was another to go before a crime actually happened. And God only knew what was going to unfold once they opened that door and crossed the threshold into a possible murderer's home.

Greg stood at the bottom of the few steps leading up to the cabin, his hand on the rail if only to steady himself. He glanced back at the woods again, watching for any movements; out of the corner of his eye there was a twitch of shadow, so small he barely had time to register it before Nick rapped loudly on the door, startling him out of his observation.

"Officer Williams?" Nick called into the closed door. "It's Nick from the Crime Lab. Officer Marino and Greg are here too, we just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Silence.

"Hey, Danny," Marino tried, from the step below the one Nick was standing upon. "It's Jim. Can ya open the door?"

There was a long quiet pause (save for Greg's heartbeat), where everyone stared at the door, as if sheer wishing was enough to make it open and have Williams appear. While they were at it, Greg supposed, they might as well wish or this to be a dream. They'd each wake up in their respective beds, and very _Newhart_-like would thank God it had all been a terrible nightmare.

"I don't think anyone's here," Greg stated, rather obviously, but too much silence had always made him uncomfortable.

"No, something's wrong," Marino replied. He looked back at Nick. "Let's go inside."

Nick jiggled the doorknob. "Locked."

"Break it down," Marino responded, as if Nick should've realized it sooner.

Nick simply shrugged, before taking a step back and raising his leg. With one swift blow, he kicked the door open, the cracking of wood echoing throughout the forrest and startling several sleeping animals.

While Marino remained relaxed, entering the cabin with what Greg assumed was confidence in his partner, Nick drew his gun. Aiming as if to clear the area, he entered swiftly, causing Greg to feel even more anxious than before as he stood close to Marino just inside the front door. Ever the vigilant police officer despite the fact that he had switched careers long ago, Nick indicated for the two men to stay put while he checked the bathroom, and soon he returned with a lowered weapon.

"There's no one here," Nick stated, but didn't return his gun to its holster.

Greg felt his heart rate lower slightly, Nick's words placating him for the time being. With the other man's gun still drawn, it was still cause for concern, but now Greg could calm down enough to think and take in his surroundings. Immediately, he noted the made bed, the undisturbed living area, the sparkling kitchen. No one had been here, and it was painfully obvious. It only left one question, that Greg was afraid to ask but knew Nick would in three, two --

"If Williams hasn't been here," the senior CSI mused, right on cue, "then where has he been all night?"

From just inside the doorway, with his ear turned to the cold, Greg heard a snap of wood. Quickly, he turned, just in time to see a flicker of gold reflecting off of the light through the open door. A badge. A police badge. He dared not take his eyes off of it, snapping his fingers several times quickly and indicating outside frantically. Felt a hand on his shoulder, knew it was Nick's even before he saw the older man in his peripheral vision, and pointed to a shadow that moved quickly.

"Williams," Greg stated, whispering although he wasn't sure why.

"Now, how do you know that?" asked Marino, from behind them.

"I saw his badge," Greg replied, his eyes remaining focused on the now still dark figure. "It's him."

"Get back," Nick commanded, the hand on Greg's shoulder urging him backwards. He brushed it away, planted in his spot beside Nick. If the older man thought he was the only one that would dive into a situation, he was wrong. The awful feeling of waiting in their dark cabin for Nick to return, the anxiety of wondering if something had happened to him, the minutes passing like hours -- Greg was never going to do that again. From now on, they were in this together, whether Nick liked it or not.

"He's not a murderer," Marino stated, his glare scathing as he nearly shoved Nick aside. "You don't have to be afraid of him."

"Why don't you leave that for the evidence to decide," Nick retorted, brow knotted.

Turning to the woods, Marino called, "Danny! Come on inside, you don't have to be afraid."

Finally, Williams stepped out of the woods and into the light spilling onto the snow. He was disheveled, his clothes crumpled and his hair mussed. Instinctively, Greg found himself taking a step back, and was surprised to see Marino do the same. Almost immediately, the officer recovered, clearing his throat and trying to seem casual.

"Officer Williams," Nick called, waving him forward. "Let's talk."

Wordlessly, the younger officer walked towards them; his gait was hesitant but calculated, each step carefully laid out. His eyes shifted from left to right and back again, as if searching for an escape route or perhaps a set up. Eventually, Williams focused on Nick's gun, still drawn at his side, and Greg could see the tense sinew in Nick's arm, his finger right on the trigger.

As Williams climbed the few steps into the cabin, Nick stepped aside but not far enough to put the officer out of his direct aim should he decide to raise his gun. Greg stepped back, with Marino at his side, and the young man had to wonder if he was still trying to seem casual. Was he stepping back to give the man room to come inside, or was he stepping back because he was beginning to wonder about his partner?

"Danny," Marino began, and opened his mouth as if to say more but nothing else came.

"Jim," Williams replied, and smiled that sparkling, almost stupid, grin. "Some kinda snow out there, huh? Haven't seen weather like this since '93."

"Where have you been?" Nick asked, rather roughly.

"What Mr. Stokes means to say," Marino interjected, "is that these boys here seem to think you haven't been here all night. Care to explain that?"

"I was eating in the main house," he replied, after a beat. "I got a little hungry. Found a good book in the gift shop and got caught up. That's not a crime is it?"

"No," Nick said, almost casually.

"But murder is," Greg stated, and felt all eyes immediately upon him. Nick's expression showed his surprise, but also his dubiousness. Usually, Greg would've felt like a duck out of water and kept his mouth shut, but he was sure he was on to something and wasn't willing to let it go. "You said you haven't seen snow like this since 1993. The Storm of the Century. That was in the Northeast. New York got hit pretty hard. That's where you met her, isn't it?"

"Met who?" Williams asked, snarling.

"Frankie," Greg replied.

"So what happened, Williams?" Nick asked, and Greg was relieved that he was taking the lead, feeling vulnerable as the only one speaking. "You ran into her in Vegas, thought maybe you could rekindle something? Found out she was married and forgot all about you, huh? Must've made your blood boil."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Williams said.

"Not very surprising," Nick continued, shrugging. "Jamie was some kind of big architect over there, wasn't he? In charge of the rebuilding of Ground Zero? Must've been making money cops can only dream of."

"Can't blame her," Greg added, eyebrows raised. "You're the one that left."

Williams eyes remained locked with Greg's -- eyes that were pleading with a young man whose face was not yet marred by years of pain and death. Eyes that hoped Greg would understand, that he would listen. And maybe it should've been a thankful edge to know that his innocence could induce confessions, but all it made Greg feel like was a jerk. It was as if he were taking advantage of suspects without even trying to play the game of Good Cop-Bad Cop, and it always seemed kind of dirty.

"Danny," Greg said, finally. Playing the game. "Just tell us what happened."

There was a pause that stretched on into eternity.

Then: "She was supposed to come with me."

"Danny," Marino breathed.

In a heartbeat, Nick raised his weapon, taking a quick step back with both hands on his gun. Just as fast, Williams did the same, and Greg waited for Marino to draw his own gun but it never came. Was he honestly still doubting that Williams had done this? Or did he still feel the obligation of protecting his young partner, despite the fact that he had committed these crimes?

"Williams, put down the gun," Nick ordered, breaking Greg from his thoughts, drawing the young CSI's attention back to his own partner. "It's over, man. Just put the gun down and we can do this quietly."

"You don't understand," Williams stated desperately, shifting his aim between Nick and the two men on the opposite side of the room. "She was going to come out here as soon as she was finished with school. It was only two more semesters. I was waiting for her!"

"We understand," Marino said, holding his empty hands out beseechingly. "It must've hurt, right? For her to leave you like that, and show up here with a husband."

From Nick, firmly: "Just put down the gun and let's talk about it."

"It did hurt," Williams continued, as if he hadn't heard Nick's words. "Not even a year goes by and she's married to some big architect. I thought she loved me. She said she loved me."

"I know, Danny," Marino stated, nodding as he outstretched a hand to Williams. "But right now I need you to put down your gun, so we can talk about this. Just hand it to me, okay, Danny? Just put it in my hand."

The young officer's aim fell upon Marino. With wide eyes, Greg shifted his gaze from the muzzle of Williams' gun to the older officer standing beside him. And while Marino's expression was soft, while the outstretched hand was inviting, his eyes gave him away. Too late, Greg looked at Williams. Too late, he saw the recognition in Williams' face. Too late, he tried to warn Marino.

Too late.

Lightening flashed and thunder boomed from within the small cabin. Marino was thrown backwards by the sheer force of the bullet, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Greg screamed and raised his arms to shield himself, feeling the spray of warm blood splatter across his face as he closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall. He opened them in an instant and heard another report, flinching as Nick fired at the fleeting form of Williams. Wood cracked in the doorway as he missed, and immediately Nick ran for the door.

"Nick!" Greg cried, his voice cracking in a falsetto alto. The older man glanced back, seemingly rethinking his idea of leaving when he saw a desperate Greg staring at the man on the floor; the officer was gasping for air, his skin as pale as the snow, and Greg could see that the blood that had drained from his face was quickly escaping from the hole in his chest. Hastily, the young CSI knelt down beside Marino, pressing his hands firmly onto the wound, trying to stop the blood.

"Jim, it's okay," Greg breathed, as he felt the damp stickiness from beneath his fingers. He tried to focus on something else, but when he looked into Marino's eyes and saw the life flickering in and out of them, he felt himself gasp for air. "Just hang on, okay? It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

Greg glanced behind himself, seeing Nick standing over them, gun slack at his side. Looked up into those dark eyes and nearly yelled, "You have to get someone! Nick, please, go get someone."

Nick seemed almost horrified as he replied, "Who?"

"I -- " Greg began, but suddenly felt a hand upon his, desperate fingers clutching his own. He looked down at Marino, saw blue eyes darkening, and Greg begged for him to stay, begged for him not to go, please don't go, please -- but soon the hand upon his was boneless, the eyes focused on his were blank, and the man beneath him was gone.

"Oh, my God," Greg said, breathing hard. He snatched his hands away, watching Marino's fall lifeless to the floor. Suddenly panicked, Greg scrambled backwards and fell on his butt, his back pressed against the wall so hard he was almost sure he'd push himself through it. He looked at his hands, covered in blood, Marino's blood, and he carelessly wiped them on his jeans, trying to get rid of the red, and he was afraid that even when it was gone he would still be able to _feel_ it.

The synapses in his brain continued to fire and misfire, giving him too much information to process at one time and he felt himself on the verge of something awful when there was a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Nick, squatted down in front of him, his vision blurred with hot tears, his head spinning.

"Greg," the older man said gently, his other hand coming up to the side of Greg's face, who flinched slightly at the touch. Nick's expression contorted into a deep worry, and he leaned in closer. "Greggo. Listen to me. Take deep breaths."

Greg did as he was told, taking in shaky, deep breaths until he returned to some kind of normal. He felt only slightly foolish for his behavior, but it was overshadowed by the dead body lying on the floor beside them.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Greg asked quietly, fearing that if he spoke any louder it would give his lingering anxiety away.

"I'm going after him."

"What!" Greg shrieked, eyes widening. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you not just see what he did to his own partner?"

"We can't let him get away," Nick retorted. "Or do you not remember what he did to Frankie and Jamie? There's plenty of other people out there, who knows what he's going to do now?"

"No!" Greg yelled, pushing Nick away from him roughly as he stood and began to pace. "You aren't going anywhere! I let you leave once and I'm not going to do it again. You don't know what that feels like!"

"You're right, Greg, I don't," Nick replied, as he stood from the floor. "But this guy is dangerous and we can't let him run wild in this place. If someone else gets hurt and we could've stopped it, how would that feel?"

"Then, fine," Greg said, hands on his hips, his chin raised, trying to seem defiant. "If you're going, then I'm going with you."

Nick almost laughed, and it was infuriating. "You aren't coming with me."

"What?" Greg asked, offended. "Why not?"

"I can't protect you _and_ myself out there," Nick stated. "If I'm too busy keeping track of you, how am I supposed to concentrate on anything else? One of us will get hurt."

"I don't care," Greg spat. "I'm going with you, end of conversation. Besides, you can't stop me from following you."

Nick's jaws worked against one another, and Greg knew he had won this battle. The older man glanced off and then back to his boyfriend, stepping closer to him and placing his hands in Greg's.

"Greg," Nick said quietly, his eyes cast to the floor. "I'm sorry."

Greg knotted his brow. "For what?"

Nick's hands twitched in Greg's, and maybe in hindsight he should've seen this coming, but at the moment it seemed unprecedented. Expertly, Nick grabbed Greg's wrist and turned him, twisting his arm behind him and pulling so hard Greg could swear his shoulder would tear away from his body at any moment. Sweeping at Greg's ankles with one leg and tripping him, Nick easily threw him face down into the ground. Greg felt the air escape from his lungs with the impact of hard wood against his stomach, coughing and gasping as he attempted to breathe, but the hard knee in his back wasn't helping.

"Nick," he croaked. "What -- ?"

"Greg, I'm sorry," said the man behind him, and the knee was removed from his back as Nick grabbed the back of Greg's collar and dragged him toward the bed. "I'm really sorry."

"Let go of me!" Greg shouted, regaining his bearings. Nick might've thought he was much stronger than Greg, but the reality was that Greg was not going to go down without a fight; the young man nearly scrambled to his feet when Nick lifted him bodily and slammed him into the nearest wall, knocking the breath from him once more. This time, he didn't recover as quickly. White flashed before his eyes, and the cold metal against his wrist was barely registered. Before Greg knew it, the weight was removed from him and he was left standing against the wall, breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" he heard, and turned sharply.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" he yelled, but when he went to move forward, his right hand held him back. He looked down and back up, eyes wide, mouth agape. "You handcuffed me to the door."

"I can't let you go with me," Nick said, shaking his head, his expression almost pained. "I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You're joking," Greg replied, tugging at the handcuffs. "You have got to be fucking joking. Uncuff me."

"I can't."

"Nick," Greg said as evenly as possible, trying to suppress the anger in his voice. "Please, uncuff me."

"I'm sorry."

The older man was beginning to slowly head for the door, and Greg felt his anger dissipating as the panic crept back up on him. Nick couldn't go out there alone. He couldn't go out there without Greg.

"Nick, don't!" Greg pleaded, pulling fruitlessly at the metal between his wrist and the bathroom doorknob. "Nick, wait! You can't leave me here!"

Nick looked back only once, hesitated only for a moment, before he walked out of the cabin and stepped down into the snow. Through the open door, Greg could see his partner cross the yard and pause before the dark and ominous woods. And he prayed, Greg prayed that Nick would turn around and come back, that he would unchain him from the door and they could at least go together, because they could beat anything together. They were a team, they were friends and they were lovers; they were each other's protector, not only of each other's bodies but also their minds and especially their hearts.

Nick couldn't just leave him here. He couldn't just leave. Not without Greg to protect him.

"Nick, please!" Greg shouted, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "Please, don't go!"

It was only a fraction of a second before Nick took a step forward, and the dark woods swallowed him whole.

---

To be continued -- hopefully a lot faster than it took for this chapter to get posted.


	7. Chapter 7

More climax. Enjoy. Please stop being mean to me and review. I just like to know how I'm doing. Oh, and sorry this took so long. I am incredibly lazy. :)

---

Greg wondered when it had all gone wrong; just when, exactly, had their (Nick's) master plan gone seriously askew?

They (Nick) had decided to confront their (Nick's) prime suspect. As they traversed the dense forrest and deep snow, Greg had been led to believe that they were going to arrest someone. It was going to happen quietly and with full cooperation of the arrestee, who was supposed to have been Officer Marino. Quick and painless, Nick said.

"I never said that," Greg could almost hear Nick say now, although the older man was not present. Somehow, however, he remembered those words.

Needless to say, it hadn't been quick. And it certainly hadn't been painless. Just ask Officer Marino, who was currently lying dead on his back on the wooden floor of the cabin. Greg was also on the floor, except he was sitting, with one arm dangling from the doorknob of the bathroom by metal handcuffs. He was just two feet away from the body. And he couldn't stop looking at it, no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else in the room. It always led him back to Marino.

He tried to look through the open door that Nick had exited through only minutes earlier to chase after a cold-blooded murderer. The same cold-blooded murderer that had shot Marino.

He tried to focus on the handcuffs, pulling at the knob, attempting to pry himself free; remembered that Nick had chained him there in the first place to keep him from following the older CSI, to keep him safe from the same man that had murdered Marino.

_Fuck._

Maybe he could just close his eyes and forget this whole mess. He would sit still, relax, and Nick would be back before he knew it. He just needed to clear his head, and he would soon forget the body lying nearly directly beside him, rigid and cold and very dead.

So he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And --

He breathed. Not Greg, but Marino. A long, even, exhaled breath. Stale air escaping the corpse's lungs as unfixed blood and muscles shifted, both a result of gravity and the stages of rigor beginning to set in, a process sped up by the cold. And while Greg knew it was completely normal, had witnessed it several times during autopsies at the Crime Lab, in this particular situation it was really. Fucking. Creepy.

He had to get out of here. He couldn't sit here with a dead body beside him, especially a _breathing_ dead body. He nearly expected it to start moving, somehow reanimating itself into a brainless, blood-thirsty zombie. And once that image was stuck in his head, Greg realized that he was still chained to the door -- vulnerable to any brain-sucking zombie.

That's when he started to panic.

---

Nick didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing. Realizing that chaining a fellow police employee to a bathroom door might indicate a screw or two loose in his brain, he instead chose to focus on where he was going. And chose to completely ignore the fact that he had roughed up his boyfriend and left him helpless and alone and hurt and --

Forget it, he reminded himself, all the while wondering when the sound of Greg's voice begging him to come back would stop haunting him.

_Forget it_.

He just kept following the deep footprints in the snow, tracking Williams like one of the prevalent cougars in Nevada would track its own prey. He imagined himself as a cunning cat, gliding gracefully through his habitat with piqued ears and sharp eyes. And Williams was a gazelle -- well, there weren't any gazelles in Las Vegas, but this _was_ Nick's fantasy. Anyway, Gazelle Williams was fleeing scared and panicked through the woods, but everyone knew that cougars were faster and stronger. And Williams didn't want to know what was going to happen once Nick got a hold of him.

There was a loud rustle of leaves to his right, interrupting his thoughts and giving him pause. He pressed his back against a tree, his gun aimed in the direction of the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. Two glowing eyes focused back at him, and he wondered briefly if this interloper was the object of his recent analogy. Next he wondered what his own statistical risk of getting mauled to death was before quickly chasing that thought from his mind. Instead, he again focused on where he was headed.

The footprints were leading him back to the main house. It was a dangerous thought, to wonder what a murderer would do once arriving there, but Nick was determined to catch him before that happened. He quickened his pace upon this realization, trying to remain quiet in the frozen forrest and avoid detection -- from cougars or cops or otherwise.

He'd lost time in the cabin, although he wasn't sure just how much. The universe seemed to have slowed while Marino had died, stretching on into eternity as Greg balanced precariously on the edge of shock, and coming back at warp speed as Nick attacked his unsuspecting lover.

For a moment, Nick pondered how much trouble he was going to be in for that. And while Greg had previously tried to convince him that handcuffs could be a fun addition to their relationship, Nick was pretty sure this wasn't what the young man had had in mind.

He paused in addition to his thoughts as he approached dense brush. His eyes followed the footprints leading directly into it, a harsh expletive crossing his lips as the trail ended inside twisting branches and leaves. Williams could've gone in any direction at this point; easily, the officer could be awaiting Nick's arrival, knowing he would be followed.

Nick cursed softly again. As soon as that thought entered his mind, he perked up his ears and attempted to see in the dark like that cougar he had envisioned himself to be. His heart became heavy with dread, the feeling overwhelming his sixth sense and sending his brain into overdrive. Pressing his back into a large tree for the second time that night, he steeled himself for the impending doom he could feel coming at him like a freight train.

There was a snap from beside him, startling him. Williams was pretty good to sneak up on a perpetually hyper-vigilant CSI like Nick, who had especially honed his senses after the kidnapping. Swiftly, the ex-cop attempted to rush the present-cop, arms outstretched and gun ready, but there was a voice booming from behind him, disorienting him once more.

"Freeze, motherfucker!" he heard, and did as he was told.

---

Greg could, if he wanted to, reach over and grab Marino's gun. But there was something obscene about stealing from a dead man. That and the fact that he was afraid he might touch the officer by accident. Yes, he'd come in contact with plenty of dead bodies in his day, but never any zombies -- which he had now thoroughly convinced himself that Marino was.

Not to mention the fact that he had no idea what to do once he had a gun in his hand. He played with the thought of shooting at the chain of the handcuffs, but shit like that only worked in movies. In all honesty, he probably would succeed in detaching himself from the doorknob, but more than likely it would be because he'd shot off his own hand.

Perhaps he could use the butt of the gun to smash the handcuffs, or even the doorknob. The thought only brought him back to his original dilemma: touching Marino's corpse.

"Okay," he murmured to himself. "Suck it up, Sanders. You've touched plenty of dead bodies before. You can do this."

Tentatively, he reached out and over Marino, stretching his left arm long as his right pulled at the handcuffs. He was unable to see the gun since it was located on the opposite side of the body, but he knew it would be located at the holster on the dead man's waist. It was more of a distance than he thought, and pain tingled down his arm as he blindly grasped for the gun, his fingers barely finding the leather holster. Just a little further and he could grab the gun, but the handcuff was holding him back.

His shoulders began to protest, and he almost felt as if one would pop out of its socket at any moment. The metal encircling his right wrist was slipping towards the fragile bones in his hand, crushing and grinding them together painfully. He was just shy of a few inches, but he was also determined to get out of this cabin and find Nick. He just had to think about Nick, out there alone and in the cold.

"Come on," he murmured, his fingers tip-toeing on the edge of the holster, the bones in his other hand cracking. "Just...a little...further..."

Suddenly, he fell forward, his hand slipping completely through the handcuff and causing him to land face-first into Marino's crotch. He scrambled back with a start, rubbing at his aching bones as he pressed himself into the wall, apologizing profusely to the dead man before him and wondering if he was now a necrophiliac.

"Fuck," he breathed, wiping at his mouth and then his entire face, grossed out more than that time he'd won a bet seducing and kissing his sixty-year-old physics professor at Stanford -- and she had been one ugly spinster.

Oh, man, he thought. Nick was _seriously_ going to pay for this.

Standing on unsteady feet, Greg moved around the body in a wide circle, carefully squatting beside it to take the gun. That was when he realized the reason Marino hadn't drawn his gun earlier was because it wasn't there. Instantly, Greg felt almost sorry for the man; Marino had had so much faith in his partner's innocence that the officer had left his weapon behind. Briefly, Greg wondered what it would be like for Nick to turn on him, and then his aching hand reminded him that he sort of already knew.

Greg stood once more, turning towards the door and steeling himself for the cold -- and what lay beyond it. He snaked a hand deep into his pocket, retrieving his Tootsie Roll chapstick and applying a thin layer to his lips. Tasted chocolate and felt at least glad that he had _some_ kind of protection.

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the cabin, his heart accelerating at the thought of running into Williams before finding Nick. Panic overtook him and he began to tread through the snow quickly, following two sets of footprints into the woods. His eyes scanned the foliage for any signs of life as he moved between the trees with blundering force. He imagined himself as a bear -- a large, scary, intimidating bear that smaller animals shied away from. With sharp teeth, wild eyes, vicious claws and a ferocious growl, nobody would mess with him. Not even Williams.

He felt a pull at his ankle, breaking him away from his thoughts as inertia sent him forward and gravity pulled him to the ground. Breathless from the fall, he turned onto his back, kicking and scrambling away, feeling the pulling and scratching. He nearly screamed, imagining Marino on the ground, crawling towards him with a foaming mouth, dead eyes staring at him with an intense hunger.

More likely, it was Officer Williams, alive and angry and completely off his rocker. He'd taken Nick already, killed him and buried him in the woods or tossed him in a lake or something equally as cliched. Now it was Greg's turn to be tortured and maimed and brutally killed, or perhaps left for dead in the freezing cold. Greg just hoped that, in his last moments of life, his bodily functions would occur _after_ his death, and not before. Although, he supposed it really didn't matter; no one would know except himself and God, but Greg really wasn't sure he would be able to look the Lord in the eyes after this. And if he had to spend eternity in Heaven with the guy? That would be pretty uncomfortable.

Greg realized, after maybe a minute or two of irrational, panicked thoughts, that the pulling at his ankle had not stopped, but it hadn't really gone any further than that. He was so busy imagining what it _could've_ been that he didn't realize what it actually was -- he'd caught himself in a twist of dead branches. The young CSI stopped with a start, sitting there in the snow and wondering if this counted as a near-death experience because it sure felt like one.

"Jesus," he breathed, trying to calm down while wondering if his pants were wet from the snow or another form of precipitation. Quickly, he disengaged his leg and stood, brushing himself off and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

What had he mentioned before? Something about Nick? Oh, yeah. That he was going to pay for this. _Seriously_.

Beginning on his quest for the second time, Greg moved through the forrest, still quickly but this time a little more carefully. With the thought of Williams lying in wait to grab Greg at the first opportunity, the young man was suddenly aware of his every move. A sound accompanied every step, and he fought to maintain stealth while traveling through the dense woods.

Perhaps twenty feet from where Greg was, he spotted a man and paused. Ducking behind a tree, Greg peered around the large pine, squinting in the dark to see clearer. The man was just standing there, his back to Greg, head tilted downward as if studying something on the ground. Greg's fingers gripped at the bark on the tree, clutching hard in an attempt to steady his shaking hands, wondering what to do. Should he sneak up on him? Should he wait until the man started moving and follow him?

Suddenly, there was a snap as Greg's grip on the bark proved to be a little too hard, and the young CSI stepped back with a start, a piece of wood still clutched between his slender fingers. He waited a moment, his back pressed against the tree as he held his breath. Daring to glance back once more, Greg could see the figure raise his arms and aim his gun, pointing in several directions. Immediately, he knew it was Nick. There was no mistaking his poise, especially to someone who had been practically living with the man for several months now.

Greg opened his mouth to alert Nick to his presence, but instead he smiled. Remembering their little tiff and the fact that Nick had yet to pay for his indiscretions, Greg realized that this would do perfectly.

---

Nick stood with his hands aimed at the Heavens, wondering if he was going to be there soon. Praying that he hadn't made the biggest mistake in his life by leaving Greg handcuffed to the bathroom door. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Nick was supposed to find Williams first, not the other way around. Now Greg was alone and vulnerable, unable to even run thanks to Nick's genius plan. It was one thing for Nick to risk his own life, but now he'd inadvertently put Greg's in danger too. He just hoped that, if they met on the Other Side, Greg would be able to forgive him.

So consumed in his own thoughts, Nick didn't realize right away that he had been standing there for a few minutes and Williams had yet to make another sound. He hadn't even asked Nick to drop his weapon. The senior CSI shifted his eyes to the right, then slowly turned his head to glance behind him. He could still see Williams in his peripheral vision, standing there with his shoulders shaking. Was he crying? When the man suddenly snorted, Nick realized that he was laughing. What a sick son of a --

"Nick?" he heard, in a voice that was definitely not Williams. What was going on here?

"Greg?" Nick asked, afraid to move in his confusion.

"How do you like that, asshole?" Greg replied, his voice terse with anger but laced with unmistakable amusement. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

"You -- " Nick began as he turned around, but wasn't sure what to say next. "I --"

Greg raised his eyebrows, cocking his head and waiting for Nick to continue, almost daring him to.

"I deserved that," Nick finally said, his heart rate returning to normal. "How did you sneak up on me?"

"A mix of determination, cunning and a little bit of vengeance," Greg replied, coming up to Nick as if to hug him, but suddenly he was swinging wildly. Nick stepped back quickly, but not before catching a fist against his jaw. He rubbed his face as Greg scampered behind a tree. "What are you doing?"

"You aren't going to hit me back, are you?" he heard, and couldn't help but smile.

"No," he replied, amused despite his stinging face. "I don't think I have a right to."

"Good," Greg stated, reemerging into sight, but suddenly he seemed very upset. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"I'm sorry I handcuffed you to a doorknob."

Greg shrugged, his eyes cast in the direction the footprints had been traveling in before they'd disappeared into the brush. And this was what Nick liked most about Greg: his ability to forgive Nick no matter what he did. Nick could come home from the bar drunk as a skunk, pass out in bed, steal the covers, fart nuclear gas that could peel paint and wilt their household plants, snore like a banshee and kick Greg in his slumber, and Greg _still_ woke up in the evening smiling and asking if they could make pancakes.

"So," Greg said quietly, breaking Nick from his thoughts. "Where are we headed?"

"My guess is the main house," Nick replied, indicating the general direction of it. "I think he's scared and...I think he's going to try to leave."

"What's at the main house that'll help him leave?" Greg asked, puzzled.

"A hostage."

---

To be continued...someday...perhaps in the near future...perhaps a little later than that...


End file.
